


There’s Too Many People (That Walk Alone)

by huffinglepuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Bonding, Depression, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Nightmares, Not Epilogue Compliant, PTSD, Pining, Roommates, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Soulmates, minor mpreg but only in the epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffinglepuff/pseuds/huffinglepuff
Summary: After the war, everyone dealt with their issues differently.Harry shut himself in his house, hiding behind glamours for Sunday dinners.Draco moved to muggle London, hiding behind anonymity.But when both of them make the decision to go back to Hogwarts, hiding isn’t an option anymore.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 125
Kudos: 865





	1. And then they were Roommates

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I’ve written one fic before, and got so much positive feedback which made me more confident in posting this one. I’ve been putting it off for a while - it’s now at 21K words, and growing. Since the first fic was quite happy-go-lucky, I wanted to write one that portrayed the likely affects of the war more accurately. There may be triggering topics for people with mental diseases - I will try to provide warnings as and when required, but please tell me if I’ve left them out when I shouldn’t have. I’ll try to post every three days - there will be updates on my tumblr and I will also put updates on my instagram, both with the same username as here (Huffinglepuff). I’ll keep to the schedule at first, but as it approaches the end of what I’ve already written it will most likely slow down. 
> 
> The title is from the song Too Many People by Palaye Royale.
> 
> I’m very sorry if I inaccurately portray any mental health issues - I’ve tried my best and done some research around the topic, but having little experience in this area means I cannot be sure.
> 
> Enough of me rambling - Please enjoy! ❤️

“All the fighting paid off, for me to be with you, here, now.”

Harry truly believed it, looking into Ginny’s sparkling, brown eyes, as she laughed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re such a sappy tosspot.”

“But I’m _your_ tosspot.”

“That you are.” She leaned in for a kiss, which Harry reciprocated enthusiastically. 

However, Ginny’s lips were ice cold.

And her eyes were red.

“The Boy who Lived, come to die” Ginny hissed - their entire conversation had been in parseltongue, Harry realised, how had he not realised sooner, Voldemort was back - he was frozen, collapsing on the cold, unforgiving ground of the forest as Ginny’s bed disappeared, hearing a high pitched cackle that he would never forget ring in his ears and Voldemort was in front of him, behind him, encompassing the entire world...and Harry was almost relieved when he heard those too-familiar words, saw a flash of green light, felt a stabbing pain in his chest as he was falling…

Harry sat up in his bed, almost falling out in his haste to get his wand. He was covered in sweat, his heart was racing, his chest was so tight it hurt and he was breathing heavily. 

He curled into a foetal position on his bed, trembling, whimpering slightly at the headache. It was too close to the aching of his scar for Harry’s liking. “He’s not back, there were no more horcruxes, he’s dead” Harry whispered, a mantra to drive the nightmare away from reality.

About five minutes afterwards Harry was still shaking slightly, but had calmed down enough to have some coherent thoughts. He cast a _tempus_ \- it was 4:30 in the morning. He knew he wasn’t going to get back to sleep with the adrenaline coursing through his veins, so he padded down the stairs of Grimmauld Place to make himself a cup of tea.

It had been three months and twenty-eight days since the Battle, and twenty-eight days since he’d gone off Dreamless sleep, so he didn’t become addicted. This meant twenty-eight nightmares, twenty-eight nights of under five hours of sleep, and twenty-seven days of using glamours to hide just how bad the bags under his eyes are when around anyone other than Kreacher.

Twenty seven days of glamours because Harry had been reasonably sure he didn’t look that bad when he went to the Weasley Sunday lunch. That was before the concerned looks from Bill and Percy - the same ones that were directed at George - before being pulled over by Ron and Hermione (who were inseparable now, and did everything together), and then Arthur, and then Ginny - before being fed enough food for three fully grown men by Molly because he was “looking terribly pale dear, what is that elf of yours feeding you?”

Harry appreciated all of their concern, but at the end of it all had had to leave early - he’d felt like the walls were closing in, like he was about to crumble under the weight of their concerned stares. He’d gone home and thrown up all of Molly’s food, heaving until there was nothing left. Then he’d curled up on his bed, eyes open and staring at the wall, shaking at the thought of another nightmare - so he’d stayed awake for as long as he could.

That night, he’d dreamt of being under a _petrificus totalus_ and his invisibility cloak, like that night on the tower, while watching the Weasleys being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange, after the curses she’d fired towards Ginny and Molly during the Battle had struck true.

He hadn’t been able to eat anything the next day.

Kreacher had been very helpful - he always seemed to know what Harry had needed, whether it be a cup of chamomile tea (it tasted disgusting, but always calmed him down), a hot meal, or something to blow up. Harry had especially enjoyed blasting the wall which Walburga Black’s portrait had been on, and Kreacher had been surprisingly amicable to Harry destroying some Black family heirlooms. Of course, he insisted on keeping some, but there were many even Kreacher had found distasteful - the first things to go had been the decapitated house elf heads that had once lined the stairs.

Regardless, Harry had lost a lot of weight, looking more like his first year self with each passing day. He had permanent, purpleish bags under his eyes, and his head was always throbbing at the base of his skull. Whenever it approached his scar, Harry automatically grabbed his wand and put up a _protego_ , ready for any threat. These particular episodes, Harry found, were the worst, as he could think that what he was doing was stupid, and Voldemort wasn’t in his kitchen he was _dead_ , but his body was acting on muscle memory, tensing and firing hexes at anything that moved. Harry had ordered Kreacher to stay away if he knew Harry was having an episode, after he’d accidentally fired an _expelliarmus_ at Kreacher, causing his wooden spoon to go flying out of his hand. He’d also incinerated most of the curtains in the house - not that this was a huge loss, they were ugly and moth eaten and dispelled dust in unnerving shapes every time they had been moved.

Based on all of this, Harry was really concerned with his decision to go back to Hogwarts in two days. He had no idea what the room situation would be, since there weren’t exactly eighth year dorms in the school, and what if he had an episode in a lesson? That wouldn’t be good for anybody.

Not to mention that Harry was terrible with crowds and anything that reminded him of the Battle.

But he couldn’t _not_ go back, because he didn’t want to have to wait years until his mind was sorted out and then get his NEWTs. He imagined going back as a twenty-five year old, sitting in a room of seventeen year olds who hadn’t been affected by the war as much as him. It just wasn’t done, and he didn’t want exceptions being made just because he was the _Saviour_. He may be affected worse than most, but almost everyone went through something bad during the war.

Harry cast another _tempus_ as he drained the last of his tea. Quarter to five. He dragged himself back upstairs, and put his trunk in the middle of his room, open and empty. He levitated the books that he’d owl-ordered into the bottom, before piling clothes on top - school robes, old, baggy t-shirts of Dudleys that he used as pyjamas and underwear, mostly. He also packed his going-out jeans and joggers for the common room. Then he put in the snitch Dumbledore left him, the Marauder’s Map, his dad’s old cloak and other various personal items. Then stuff required for school - potions ingredients, spare quills, ink and parchment. After he’d finished packing, nothing of his own remained in his room, except his Firebolt in the corner. He stared at it for a couple of minutes, but felt none of the emotions he’d felt before seventh year - the freedom a broom provided him with, the happiness he’d associated with being up in the air. Nothing. He shrunk it and tucked it into his trunk anyway - he didn’t want to be on the quidditch team, and didn’t think they’d be allowed anyway, but it was an escape plan at the very least. The thought made him feel a bit better.

“Lunch is ready for Master Harry” Kreacher croaked from behind the door. _Lunch?_ Harry thought. The clock on his wall revealed it was twelve on the dot - Harry was surprised Kreacher had let him skip breakfast, the elf was normally insistent on regular meals. Even though he wasn’t particularly hungry, Harry headed down the stairs - the stew did smell pretty good. 

He finished lunch, and pondered what to do next. He didn’t really want to do anything - normally he picked a book at random from the library and stared at the pages, occasionally reading them, but today he just wanted to do...nothing. Packing and stressing about going back had really taken all the energy out of him.

Thankfully, the decision was taken from him, as his floo chimed. Harry hurriedly cast the usual glamours - to hide the bags, add colour to his face, add weight to his body - and then answered to Hermione’s face in the fireplace.

“You are going back to school, right?”

“Hello, Hermione. Yes, I’m doing well Hermione, how are you? Yes I am going back to school, why are you asking?” Harry was used to Hermione’s usual bluntness, but was in a weird mood.

“I was just checking - are you packed?”

“Yes, I packed this morning.”

“I was just making sure - I worry about you, alone in that house. You could come stay with me and Ron?” Hermione had breached this topic at least once a week since Harry had left the Burrow; that is to say, since he broke up with Ginny. They lived in an apartment Hermione was renting in London until school started, and then were planning to use the money they’d received with their Orders of Merlin to buy a house. Harry would, but he worried - if he forgot to do his glamours, if he forgot to put up a silencing charm, if the charm failed...he couldn’t worry them anymore. He couldn’t be a burden - they’d already gone through so much for him in the last year, he couldn’t ask any more.

“I’m fine here, really. I’m keeping myself occupied, and I’ve got Kreacher - you remember how much better he got? He’s taking care of me.” The words did their trick, as the worry lines on Hermione’s face softened and she smiled.

“Well don’t hesitate to call, okay?”

“Of course not. How’s Ron?”

“He’s fine, but I’m forcing him to pack right now. You know what he’s like.”

Harry rolled his eyes and forced his mouth to turn up at the corners slightly - Ron always waited until the last day to pack, always forgot something and that something was, without fail, needed the day before it arrived. “It’s impressive you’ve got him packing this early in the week.”

“This is after a week of nagging, Harry, you have no idea.”

“Well you’ve managed what Molly didn’t, which is impressive. You’d better go check on him though.”

“That’s an idea, Harry - there is an unnerving lack of swearing coming from his room. Talk tomorrow, okay?” 

“Sure.” Harry smiled until Hermione’s face left the fireplace, then slumped back in his chair and waved his wand to remove the glamours. He went upstairs to lie on his bed and do nothing for a few hours.

~

Harry flooed into Hogwarts at quarter to six - he wouldn’t be the first one there but would still have time to adjust. It was a shock to his system to see so many people, but thankfully he was used to it due to Weasley Sunday lunches. He made his way through the crowd, trying his best to control his breathing, eyes on Ron and Hermione.

“So what do we have to do guys? I’ve got my trunk shrunk in my pocket.”

“There are room assignments on the wall - we’re in that corner of the school with all the empty classrooms, they’ve been converted into dorm rooms. We’ll come with you, we haven’t dropped off ours yet.” Hermione said. Harry was immensely glad - he really didn’t want to go roaming around the castle alone.

None of the corridors they went down particularly stood out in Harry’s memory, so he was quite calm, and proud of himself. The dorms were on the fifth and sixth floor, but the entrance was on sixth with the girls’ dorms being downstairs. There was a sheet up with all of the room assignments - two people per room. There didn’t seem to be any Slytherins back - Hermione was rooming with Lavender Brown, the Patil twins were together, Ron was with Neville, Seamus was with Dean ( _Lucky bastards_ Harry thought - the two had got together straight after the Battle. Harry made a mental note not to go into their room unless it was absolutely necessary.) However, Harry couldn’t find his name...until he got to the very bottom of the list.

_Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy - Room Nine_

“Bad luck mate” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Maybe McGonagall would let you get a room change? I’m sure you could sleep with me and Neville. Or in the common room.”

Indeed, the common room sofas were looking quite inviting, but Harry didn’t feel anything towards the idea of having to room with Malfoy. “He isn’t a threat, and maybe he’ll just leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone?! Have you met the pointy git?”

“Yes I have met him, Ron, and I gave him his wand back. I’ll probably just avoid the room anyway - just go in to sleep.”

“That’s a good idea, Harry.” Hermione smiled at him - one of those soft, ‘I’m sorry’ smiles. It made Harry feel slightly ill, so he said:

“Let’s go dump our stuff in our rooms before dinner, yeah?”

Hermione headed down the stairs, while Harry and Ron went straight ahead to a stone corridor with cheerfully burning torches on the walls, lined with wooden doors and gleaming, brass numbers. Ron was two doors down from Harry.

Harry turned the knob (just as gleaming and brass as the number) to reveal a room about half the size of a classroom. There were two double beds, each done in a soft grey. There was a huge window looking onto the forbidden forest, so Harry took the bed nearest to the window - Malfoy could fuck off, Harry wasn’t waking up every day to a view of the place where he walked to his death. Opposite each bed there was a desk and a wardrobe in a dark wood - maybe mahogany? Harry had never been much good at identifying plants - and there were two side tables between the two beds in the same dark wood. There was a rug matching the drapes on the floor, and while it all should have looked quite drab, Harry found it calming. He unshrunk his trunk and put a few random clothes on his bed to claim it as his before shoving the trunk underneath.

He met Ron who had probably done the same thing, as they exited their rooms at the same time, and they walked up to the common room, sinking into squishy armchairs opposite each other to wait for Hermione. 

“What is she doing that’s taking so long?”

“Ron, we’ve been sitting here for thirty seconds.”

“But the _feast_ Harry. The _feast_.”

“Won’t be served before the sorting, which won’t start for another ten minutes at least.”

“Fine.” Ron crossed his arms and pouted.

Harry looked around the common room. It was similar to the Gryffindor one, if a little smaller - comfy armchairs scattered around a rectangular room, rather than circular, with a different colour scheme - probably so all the houses felt equally uncomfortable. The room was monotone with purple accents. It should have looked cold, but the fire was burning cheerfully and cast comforting shadows around the room. Harry didn’t feel at home, exactly, but he was...comfortable. He really wanted to go into his room and stare at the grey canopy above his bed, but with the feast that wasn’t an option.

 _The feast._ Harry _really_ wasn’t feeling up to that. The thought of all those eyes on him, the pressure to be the picture-perfect Saviour, wasn’t one he thought he could endure. But he had to. Nobody needed to be worrying about him and his issues on top of their own. And it wouldn’t do to never leave his room again.

Harry looked at Ron. He didn’t look any different than he did in sixth year, before everything. His face was relaxed, probably daydreaming about the food he was going to eat. His posture was terrible, showing he was at ease, and his long legs were stretched out. The only difference was he didn’t try to hide the way his eyes lit up when Hermione walked in the room, and he jumped to his feet saying “Let’s _go_ , we’re going to be _late_.”

“We’re not going to be late, we have ten minutes to get downstairs. You coming Harry?” She added, looking over at Harry, who hadn’t moved from his seat, wondering whether there was any excuse for him not to go. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry groaned as he got out of the chair. 

The trio made their way down to the hall. Harry kept his gaze on the floor for the most part - if he didn’t look at the walls, he wouldn’t see Lavender with Greyback, dead students, dead Tonks, dead Remus, dead Death Eaters. The images of the Death Eaters were less depressing and more disturbing, but all death is sad.

It did not, however, prevent Harry from the flashes of the dead in the Great Hall. This was so, so much worse than the corridors. Harry focused on keeping his breaths even, keeping his feet moving, following Ron and Hermione on the opposite side of the tables - it wouldn’t do for all three of them to be on the same side.

He sat down, not staring at the Hall as a whole, not acknowledging the memories that pounded at him. Rows of people covered by white sheets; Parvati pulling a sheet over Lavender’s bloody face; Dennis Creevy crying over the small, pale body of his brother; the Weasley family crowded around Fred, his face still smiling at the ceiling.

He zoned back in just as the sorting hat started its poem:

_The days of dark are over,  
The Battle done and won,  
We are slowly repairing,  
Now that we can have fun._

_We have been saved from him,  
You-know-who is dead,  
The castle is rebuilt from the ashes  
But it must be said._

_We can’t become complacent,  
As we did before;  
We must band together,  
As did the founding four._

_We must support each other,  
Same as when it was hard,  
We must not become divided again  
Regardless of our cards!_

There was applause throughout the hall at the end of the song, even as Ron muttered out of the side of his mouth “The rhyming’s gotten bad.”

“To be fair, the hat only had since the Battle to write this one instead of the whole year.” Hermione chided.

Harry had zoned out again. He watched emotionlessly as small children (“We couldn’t possibly have been that small, ‘Mione, look at them!”) walked from the hat to the tables, registering somewhere in the back of his mind the amount of applause the Slytherin first years was significantly less than the other three houses, but couldn’t find the effort to be mad about it.

He focused on the conversation at the meal, allowing Ron to steal from his plate to cover up the fact he didn’t eat very much - a slice of bread, a bit of meat and potato, half a slice of treacle tart - enough to satisfy everyone, not so much that he’d run out of the room ready to throw up.

Afterwards they headed up to the room, Harry in the middle of a large throng of Gryffindors. He hadn’t been approached by anyone who wasn’t his friend yet, but based on what happened on the one outing to Diagon Alley that Harry went on it wouldn’t be long before the crowds got braver. Harry decided to enjoy the peace as much as he could, while it lasted.

Once they were at the common room, everyone collapsed in the chairs closest to the fire in a large circle. Harry looked at the large gathering of people - it was one thing on the tables in the dining room, where he could only see three or four people at a time, but the large circle, that many eyes on him if he talked - his blood started pounding in his ears and he started sweating.

“I’m tired guys - gonna head off for the night.”

After a chorus of “Okay Harry”’s and “See you Harry”’s, he turned around on his heel and walked out as fast as he could without running. Each double room had its own bathroom, and Harry’s, thankfully, was empty. He went to the toilet, and cast a mouth freshening charm instead of brushing his teeth, before heading to his room. Malfoy wasn’t there, but his trunk was - it was black with gleaming silver buckles and “D.A.M” in silver lettering on the side. _Very Malfoy_ , Harry thought, glad that Malfoy hadn’t moved his stuff to get the window bed.

He quickly stripped down to his boxers, before pulling on one of Dudley’s old shirts. It was grey and had holes in it and came halfway down his thighs, despite Dudley having worn it when he was fourteen and Harry being eighteen. The Dursley’s really had treated him well. Or his parents were just short. Nobody had ever told him.

He drew the curtains around his bed, casting five different silencing charms that would hold overnight, and curled in on himself, and dropped the barrier holding his emotions back, crying for what seemed like an age before he went to sleep.

~

Draco was surprised when he’d got the letter inviting him back to Hogwarts, and had spent several days deliberating whether or not to go back. He’d flooed Pansy, Blaise, Greg, Milly, Tracy, Daphne and Theo - he would be the only Slytherin eighth year. Hopefully this would mean he’d get a room to himself this year. If he didn’t, hopefully he’d be rooming with Ravenclaws, or even Hufflepuffs; definitely not Gryffindors. Arrogant bastards.

He still got nightmares - mostly of being forced to torture other people, while his parents were held at wandpoint - and he woke up sweaty and with his heart racing, but when he’d asked the elves they’d said he didn’t make any noise and his nightmares didn’t tend to invade his day. 

After the Battle, Draco had been held in a cell for three days. Then Potter (Saint _Potter, always saving everyone_ Draco had thought, before chastising himself - Potter _had_ saved him, and he would never have been able to live freely without him) had spoken up for him, elaborating a touch but mostly telling the truth about Draco’s parents being threatened, and Draco had been released with a warning. So he had to be a model person, but he had no intention in following in his Father’s footsteps of bribery anyway.

After being released and three panic attacks in three hours after walking into the Manor, it had been sold within a day, and the Malfoy family had gone to France. But Draco had felt uncomfortable there - he missed England, with the shitty weather and rude people and _good_ tea, so he’d gone back. When he’d gone to Diagon Alley, he’d been less than welcome, and had ended up in a muggle bar. Nobody spat at him, and while he got a couple of odd looks for his clothes he’d mostly been left alone. He’d never harboured the passion his parents had against muggles, and now was grateful for the anonymity they leant him.

He’d stayed in a hotel for a couple of days, before finding a nice, modern looking apartment that wasn’t so big he’d have issues cleaning it. He’d moved in a day after, and for the next three months spent his days reading, watching muggle TV and running around a nearby park, and he spent his evenings frequenting gay bars and clubs. They were amazing, Draco had found - the alcohol got him as drunk as firewhisky did while tasting nicer - the brightly coloured ‘cocktails’ were his favourite, although any berry-flavoured cider was good enough. Then, once he had a pleasant buzz going, he’d go to a club - the drinks were more expensive, but it was worth it for the dance floor, dozens of sweaty bodies writhing to the beat that caused the very floor to pound. A hasty handjob, or blowjob in the alley or toilets was always a good way to cap it off. Draco had had to buy a whole new wardrobe for these experiences, but it was worth it. He could never be so open with his preferences, as his parents were expecting an heir, and never could have been able to participate in such ‘scandalous’ behaviour before, so now every sleeveless shirt, every pair of tight jeans, every stroke of kohl on his eyes was sweet rebellion, being the opposite of everything he’d once revered and now detested.

The main issue Draco had when considering going back to Hogwarts would be giving up this freedom. While before he couldn’t have imagined living like this, now he couldn’t imagine living without it. The tipping point, the one that had him writing his confirmation, was that this was the only opportunity he would get to return to Hogwarts - while he had been happy in his home, it had been a refuge in sixth and seventh year, and didn’t hold many negative memories - and he wouldn’t have to go to the Astronomy Tower or Room of Requirement for the entirety of the nine months he would be back. He would continue paying his rent for the year though, just in case he couldn’t do it.

However, walking into the room where the eighth years had been told to floo in, Draco started to really doubt the sanity of his decision. The room was chock full of Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, all of whom glared at him as he walked through the room. While it was jarring to be so alone, to stand out so much, Draco purposefully kept his head held high and his back ramrod-straight as he walked through the room. He walked down the corridors, noting that there was no evidence that any Battle had taken place. The volunteers had really done their jobs well.

Draco continued into the ‘Common Room’ - distastefully cluttered with chairs of all shapes and sizes, although there was at least a colour scheme. Purple wasn’t the best colour - Draco couldn’t help but think the room would look great with green accents rather than purple, even if he is rather biased - but at least it wasn’t Gryffindor red. He looked at the names, becoming increasingly panicky as he didn’t see his name, but there is was, next to-

 _Potter._ Draco almost jumped with excitement, having harboured a crush on Potter since seeing those bright green eyes, before coming to his senses.

Why in the name of Merlin did McGonagall think that putting him in a room with Potter was a good idea? She knew about their history...but she also knew Potter’s character. He was probably the least likely in their year to hex him in his sleep, which was a relief - he’d get enough of that in the corridors, probably. After seeing his name on the sheet, Potter would likely spend most of his time outside of the room anyway.

Satisfied with the conclusion he’d come to, if not particularly happy about it, Draco continued to their room. It was adequate - the bed was large, the drapes were grey - and Draco would get a nice view out of the window, as Potter had taken the bed closest to it. Draco unshrunk his trunk and put it on his bed, briefly admiring the silver lettering on the side. 

He realised it was very close to the Feast, so Draco power walked down to the Great Hall, thankful for his long legs. He slid into a seat at the end of the Slytherin table - more sparse than usual, but not as bad as Draco was expecting. The song was terrible, but it always was. Draco was furious at the lack of enthusiasm from his house when the children were sorted into Slytherin, but he refused to draw attention to himself - it wouldn’t do any good for anyone. He tried for comforting smiles - until his gaze was drawn to the Gryffindor table.

Potter was gazing down at his food, pushing it around with his fork and occasionally bringing a bit to his mouth. Nothing like the gusto he usually had. He looked a bit pale, as if he hadn’t left the house, but it looked odd from Draco’s angle - a glamour. It shifted slightly around his robes too. Potter was a powerful wizard, but had no talent for delicate spells - it was a strong glamour, but could easily be spotted by someone used to seeing them. It was similar to the ones his mother had used on his father when back from Azkaban - Draco wondered what Potter had to hide. Maybe he’d find out.

Draco finished the rest of his food and walked outside, into the grounds. The ground was still damp, and there was a breeze cooling down the temperature as the sun set, turning the sky a striking orange, fading into a bruised purple.

Draco sat on a rock, watching the sun set behind the Forbidden Forest. He loved the image of black silhouettes on a sunset background - there was something about the crisp lines and block colour over a gradient that appealed to him. When the sky was mostly a dark blue-grey, surprisingly not revealing many stars, Draco headed back up to the school, shivering slightly. He walked quickly through the common room - now, rather than glaring at him, everyone ignored him, which Draco preferred - and walked into their room. The drapes around Potter’s bed were tightly closed, and there was a strong silencing charm around them. _Good_ , Draco thought. _He probably snores_.

He quickly got changed, brushed his teeth, went to the toilet and got into bed. It was a different sort of tired than his usual clubbing that made him forgo reading before sleeping - stressing about coming back all day, stressing under keeping his put-together image under the stares of everyone else, it all drew on Draco’s energy reserves. He sank into the plush mattress, facing the wall and feeling at peace with only the sound of his own breathing to keep him company. He occluded before he went to sleep, focusing on the blankness in front of him.

He didn’t realise he forgot to draw his drapes until morning, when he rolled over to see Potter was long gone.


	2. Now They’re Bonded (oops)

He was almost there.

Harry twisted and turned through the teetering stacks of junk in the Room of Requirement, fiendfire hot on his heels. A right here, a left there and...there it was. The ugly bust which he now knew was supposed to be Rowena Ravenclaw, and on top a shining diadem, oozing magic as dark as ink. He grabbed it and tossed in the fire, which hissed and spat and...changed.

A diary, with a hole in the middle. A locket to the left. A cracked ring to the right. A diadem to the left. A cup to the right. A snake winding behind Harry...and now there were seven Voldemort’s, one with Harry’s glasses on, all made of swirling fire and pointing their wands towards him.

Harry turned his head left and right, turned on his heel looking for a way out, a broomstick, _anything_ , but there was just him and fire and Voldemort. The ends of the wands glowed green, and a high pitched cackle echoed around Harry before he was engulfed in a very distinctive shade of green light...

Harry jolted upright in bed, breathing heavily and shaking like a leaf. He curled in on himself, summoning his wand to reinforce the silencing charm before rocking back and forth, pulling his blanket tightly around him, breath shuddering. 

After about twenty minutes Harry felt well enough to emerge from his cocoon. He cast a tempus in the darkness, revealing it was 4:30 in the morning. Assuming nobody else would be awake, Harry crept out. Malfoy hadn’t closed his drapes or the curtains, and a shaft of moonlight illuminated his pale face. His hair fanned out on the pillow - it was longer than Harry remembered, not long enough to tie back but getting there - and his mouth was slightly open, a puddle of drool underneath. His arms were skinny, one tucked under his pillow and one on top, and one leg was sticking out from underneath the covers. Staring at his once-hated nemesis, Harry was surprised to feel nothing towards the sleeping boy. Likely because he looked so vulnerable and… _young_ in his sleep.

Harry went and had a very long shower, just standing there and letting the warm water hit the back of his neck. He went back to his room at 5:30, taking his time getting dressed. Malfoy was still in bed, asleep.

He looked in the mirror, noting he looked considerably worse than usual. He cast his usual heavy-duty glamours, before grabbing a book to stare at from his trunk and sitting in a chair in the common room.

After another hour and a half, people started emerging from the dorms. They seemed surprised to see Harry, but having grown up with him they had no illusions about the ‘Chosen One’.

After another half an hour, Hermione emerged, yawning, and perched on the arm of Harry’s chair.

“You look well, Harry, how did you sleep?”

“Pretty well - didn’t even hear Malfoy come in, although he was still asleep when I left.”

“So you haven’t interacted with him yet?”

 _Not if you don’t call staring at him while he sleeps interaction_ , Harry thought. “Nope. Hey look, there’s Ron, we can finally go down to breakfast!” Harry wasn’t hungry, despite having been up for four hours, but was happy to change the topic from Malfoy.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, clearly noticing the topic change but likely just happy that Harry wasn’t obsessing over Malfoy like he did in sixth year.

“Come on you two, I’m _starving_ ,” Ron said, walking straight past them.

Harry and Hermione hurried to catch up with him, the trio walking side by side down the corridors. Harry looked around, not associating any of the corridors with the Battle. In fact, the corridors looked better than they had in years - the stone was gleaming (as much as stone could, anyway), the torches were burning cheerfully, and there was no evidence of any destruction. Harry almost thought he could get through the year.

Then they got to the Great Hall, and it was as bad as the Feast last night. Flashbacks of everyone who had died, even those who didn’t die in the Battle, like Moody, hit Harry harder than the Hogwarts express ever could. He pushed all the emotions that threatened to well up down, down, where he didn’t have to acknowledge them.

Face completely neutral, he continued into the Hall, vaguely nodding along to Ron and Hermione’s conversation. He obediently shovelled bacon and eggs into his mouth, not even tasting them. He washed them down with tea, still nodding at Ron and Hermione. 

“Come on Harry, it’s an easy day - double defence and then double charms.”

“Yep, I’m coming ‘Mione.”

He followed the couple back to the common room, grabbing all the supplies he needed for the lessons and shoving them in his bag before walking up to defence with them. It was a small-ish class - about twenty students, but a mix of all four houses. Harry noted Malfoy was there, and being given a wide berth by everyone; not that he seemed to care. He had his head held high, scanning over everyone that walked past. But there was something different in the way he held himself, Harry noted - he seemed looser, but more elegant. More grounded, and therefore free to move without fear of being lost to the currents.

Harry checked his own stance. He was exhausted, but not in a way food or sleep could fix. He was slightly slouching, shoulders curling inwards, and his face was devoid of emotion. Better than not being there at all, Harry figured, not caring enough to sort himself out. 

He turned his head back to Ron and Hermione as Malfoy’s head turned towards his, before he could be caught staring. Ron was happily talking about the Cannon’s chances in the league this year, but Hermione gave him an odd look. _You okay?_ she mouthed.

Harry shrugged and mouthed _fine_ in return.

She didn’t seem convinced, but couldn’t question him as the new Defence Professor beckoned them inside. 

Professor MacDougal was relatively young for a teacher, and wasn’t completely taken by Harry, who was relieved. He was quite short and bouncy - not as much as Flitwick, but he still had plenty of energy. He spent the lesson lecturing, assuring them that they would be doing practical work next week. Harry spent the lesson dutifully copying Hermione’s notes, and not thinking about what he was going to do next week, when they were practicing duelling. At least it wasn’t for another week - the Professor wanted them to spend a double lesson doing practical work, and the next two lessons were not. This lesson was blessedly boring, and while they were doing in-depth analysis of duelling techniques, Harry got through the lesson just fine.

Charms was another question. Most of the lesson had transpired similar to Defence - Flitwick had lectured them about the proper way to cast mind-bonding spells, and how to make them temporary - but at the end he told them to pair up and practice, “While the information was still fresh in their minds.”

Harry looked around the room. Hermione was with Ron, and everyone else was paired up.

Everyone except Malfoy.

~

Draco was having a shitty day.

He’d been hexed on the way to breakfast, charms, and was currently suffering a stinging hex in an _uncomfortable_ place after a fifth year had tried to ‘remove the stick up his arse’. As if a stinging hex would remedy that. He’d been shifty all lesson, and since he’d been occupied before the lesson he’d ended up having to take up a seat next to Potter, who seemed oddly indifferent. To Draco’s delight or horror, he wasn’t sure.

In fact, Potter had seemed different all day. Ignoring the glamours, he’d barely been part of the conversations at the Gryffindor table at breakfast, he’d looked close to nodding off in defence when studying _duelling_ , and his expression barely changed when the teacher announced they’d be duelling next week. The Potter he’d known before would have been ecstatic at the idea of a lesson with no writing,but this Potter’s eyebrows barely twitched when the announcement was made.

On top of that, he’d barely spared a look in Draco’s direction - a sharp contrast from the stalking of sixth year. Draco had almost missed it, until bright green eyes were staring in his direction once again.

“You wanna work together?” Potter asked. His voice was more gravelly than usual, like he’d been screaming. Unlikely, considering how antisocial he’d been throughout the day.

“I don’t _want_ to, Potter, but it doesn’t look like we have much choice” Draco drawled, gesturing lazily around the room. No reason to look eager at attempting a mind bond with him.

“Alright.” Potter shrugged. “Do you want to cast or shall I?” His voice was not only gravelly but also monotone, as if he was occluding.

“I’ll cast Potter, since you have the delicacy of a Hippogriff in my mother’s china cabinet.” The corner of Potter’s mouth twitched before his face went neutral again.

“Alright.” Draco raised an eyebrow at Potter’s compliant attitude, but levelled his wand with Potter’s forehead. Potter didn’t so much as flinch, just maintained a steady eye contact with Draco.

 _Mentem vinculum_ Draco murmured, waving his wand in a Celtic knot movement before flicking his wand upwards. “Do you know how to occlude, Potter?”

“Not at all. Snape tried to teach me, in fifth year, but it didn’t go...well.” Draco felt a wave of guilt pass over him. He was pretty sure it was his own - he hadn’t known about how Severus died until after the Battle, but he knew Voldemort - he shuddered at the name - had killed him because he thought Severus had some power that he wanted. Draco was quite sure it was some power he’d got from Dumbledore - so if Draco had killed Dumbledore like he was supposed to, Severus needn’t have died. Draco had spent a lot of time thinking about it when he’d seen the story, after being released from the ministry cells. However, if the bond had been made correctly, it could also be Potter’s guilt. He _was_ the type to feel guilty about everything that’s ever happened. He probably felt guilty for killing Voldemort.

“That sounds about right - you don’t strike me as the sort to possess that kind of mental discipline.” Not a single response to his jabs. Draco inwardly sighed in disappointment, saying “I’ll check for a bond.”

Draco cleared his mind, before reaching inwardly. He’d always seen his mind as a sort of island, with an ocean surrounding it as a defence. It was as tidy as ever, but there was a rope - it was glowing, for whatever reason - stretching out across a glittering, green ocean. He followed it, and it went into…

Draco mentally recoiled. It was a huge, black void, and everything seemed to be getting pulled into it. The rope even appeared to be straining, attempting to pull into the void. This wasn’t a mind. This was...despair. Desolation.

But most importantly, it wasn’t a mind. Which meant the bond had gone wrong. Draco was relieved - he’d decided that he didn’t really want a bond with Potter, especially if the git figured out how to use it to his advantage. Draco shuddered at the thought of Potter finding out just how much Draco thought about him. 

Pulling himself out of his mind and back to reality, he looked into those oddly blank, piercingly green eyes. “There’s a bond, but it’s been formed incorrectly. It goes to nothing, rather than to your mind. I’ll do some reading before next lesson.”

“That’s alright. I’d rather not try the spell this lesson, and - “ Potter cast a wordless _tempus_ ( _show off_ ) “- it’s almost the end of the lesson anyway.”

“Okay.” Draco waved his wand, packing his stuff up, as Flitwick squeaked:

“Okay everyone, time to pack up! I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Draco nodded to Potter before exiting the classroom. He cast a weaker variation of _protego_ , which forms a transparent shield around him, before power walking back to the library, since he didn’t have a lesson for another hour and had no intention of running into Potter. He managed not to get hexed, and settled in a window seat in the farthest corner of the library, opened a book and began to read. 

~

Harry was feeling very weird after charms.

Malfoy had assured him that he’d done the charm wrong, but Harry had been feeling odd emotions all day. An occasional spark of humour, a warm glow that attempted to penetrate the grief that he kept tightly wrapped around his heart for no one to see. 

He hadn’t felt anything akin to that for...a while.

But Malfoy had said the charm didn’t work, and even if it did, it would have only lasted for five minutes, according to Flitwick.

Maybe he was just having a good day.

He said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, who had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were heading towards the common room - Harry felt like going outside for a bit, and definitely didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

He walked down the path towards Hogsmeade. He had no intention of going to the village, but it was on the opposite side of the castle to the forest. He skirted around the Whomping Willow, which waved its branches menacingly, making sure Harry knew what would happen if he dared approach. He sat down, leaning against another tree, facing the Whomping Willow and the castle. At least he would know if another student came down.

After scanning the ground in front of him a few times his eyes came to rest on the Whomping Willow. He hadn’t been there since the Battle - he shuddered at the thought of the red eyes, Nagini striking Snape in the shack. He briefly closed his eyes - no need to focus on that memory. He thought back to third year - meeting Sirius for the first time, the brief elation at the idea of living with him. Grimmauld place, no matter how dusty, would have been paradise compared to the Dursley’s. Harry sat back and closed his eyes, imagining what life at Grimmauld place would be like. Waking up, spending the days racing Sirius on his broom, Sirius helping him with his homework…

Harry had no idea how long he had dozed for - not fully falling asleep in fear of nightmares, not fully awake in fear of reality. He cast a tempus - it was ten minutes into dinner, but Harry panicked at the idea of spending another meal with his housemates. They were rowdy enough to cover how quiet he was, but sooner or later they’d want him to join in the conversation, and they’d been back for twenty-four hours. The idea of all those eyes on him, expecting the old Harry back, laughing and joking with them...Harry shook his head. They wouldn’t expect that of him if he wasn’t there.

Instead of heading into the Great Hall, he power walked to the dorms. Walking in, he saw that the common room was empty - likely everyone was at dinner. He walked into his room and sat on his bed. They didn’t have any homework, yet, so he didn’t really have anything to do. He pulled the album Hagrid had given him out of his trunk, drew the curtain around his bed, and gently opened it.

Harry had to visit Hagrid sometime this week as well.

The first page was of his mum and dad at a fountain. They looked similar to Ron and Hermione now - not in looks, but rather in their body language, the way they looked at each other, barely sparing a glance at the camera.

The next page was their wedding. Next to Harry’s parents was Sirius, arm in arm with Remus. In fact, they also looked like a couple - how had Harry never noticed before? He cast a silencing charm before moving his gaze, tears pricking his eyes. 

Next to Remus and Sirius was Peter, looking better than he had whilst in service to Voldemort. Not that that was a surprise. His small, watery eyes looked adoringly at the other Marauders - had he been in service to Voldemort at this time? He had to have been a surprisingly good actor - but then again, to be their friend, Peter must have been surprising. He’d managed to become an animagus, after all.

He turned the page again, and the tears flowed freely. It was a copy of the picture Sirius had given him in the train station at the start of fifth year - with all of the Order together. Moody still had his nose, Neville’s parents still had their sanity, and many of the others still had their lives. In fact, very few people were still alive from this photo. Molly and Arthur, Kingsley...a few of the others Harry recognised from the Prophet, but so many of them were strangers to him, when they shouldn’t have been. His parents were strangers to him. 

The next few photos were of him as a baby, with his parents. In their arms, walking and holding the sofa for support, zooming around their ankles on a tiny broomstick. He couldn’t help but see how different this Harry was from what he’d seen in the mirror in first year. This Harry was chubby, with round cheeks, his eyes lit up, his forehead unmarred by the ugly scar. In first year, he’d been underweight, his bones sticking out in places they shouldn’t have been. He’d had a huge scar on his forehead, drawing attention that he’d never wanted. His eyes had still been bright, though, and one constant was that his hair stuck up at all angles.

Now, he knew he looked much, much worse. He was probably as skinny as first year (skipping dinner probably didn’t help). His cheeks were hollow, his eyes were dull, his hair had even given up on trying to escape from his head (although nobody could possibly not call it messy). Hell, he couldn’t look good if he had to cast glamours to stop everyone from worrying.

He leaned back against his headboard, staring at the photo with him on a broomstick, at the life he could have had. A life full of happiness and unconditional love.

A wave of grief washed over him, dragging him down, into that place where he hid all his emotions. Wrapping his arms around him, Harry tucked his head inwards, barely feeling the tears falling into his lap through the sea of emotion.

~

Draco didn’t really know what caused him to run into the nearest toilets, overcome with sadness.

He’d felt...detached, since charms. Like something was leeching his emotions away. He hadn’t felt particularly angry at the person who tried to hex him on the way to the library. He hadn’t been particularly amused at a funny joke he overheard.

He hadn’t realised talking to Potter had been so draining. 

Nothing particularly eventful had happened in Arithmancy - he’d sat alone, in the corner, and taken notes, not really contributing, not drawing any negative attention. The usual.

Dinner had been fine. He hadn’t spent long there, he’d wolfed down his meal and started to walk to the common room. But halfway there, he’d been overcome, almost knocked to his knees, by what had hit him. He’d stumbled and scanned the room, looking for someone who had hit him with some new hex, but he was alone. He’d stumbled to a toilet and locked himself in a stall, leaning against the door, letting the grief wash over him in waves. He had never felt anything like this before.

Or had he? 

The emotion reminded him of the darkness radiating out of the void he’d witnessed in the charms lesson. He drew back into his mind. The rope was still there, straining even more, and the void had...grown. Like it had been contained before, but was now unleashed. Waves of darkness pulsed out, and in time to those Draco felt the emotion hitting him.

Emotion...this was human. He’d read that while emotion could be imitated by magic, it couldn’t be properly rendered by anything that wasn’t living. And Draco certainly wasn’t bonded to an animal.

 _Why_ were they still bonded, then, if Draco had done the spell correctly and bonded himself to Potter? It shouldn’t have lasted for longer than five minutes. But here he was, hours later, experiencing Potter’s emotions.

 _Potter’s emotions._ The realisation hit him as strongly as the waves. _Potter_ was going through this? He had no reason to be - the git had won the war, defeated the Dark Lord, saved them all...but he’d lost, too. First he’d lost his parents, then his godfather, then Dumbledore...and there were casualties on both sides last year.

He had to go to the library, look up why the bond had remained at the very least. Draco doubted Potter would appreciate Draco knowing about his emotions, and Draco certainly didn’t want Potter knowing about his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	3. The Reveal that was Spoiled in the Tags

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a bit of Drarry interaction :)

“POTTER!”

Harry dried his eyes, sighed and lifted his head up, re-casting his glamour. He hadn’t talked to Malfoy since charms this morning - not that he’d been planning to. He cancelled the silencing charm and opened his drapes. “Yes?”

“We have to talk.” Malfoy crossed his arms, looming over Harry who was still sitting on his bed.

“Go ahead.”

“So the bond did go wrong in charms, but not in the way I thought. We did get bonded, and we’re still,” Malfoy grimaced, “bonded.”

“Brilliant. How the fuck do we undo it then?”

“Well I’ve been in the library doing some research, and it doesn’t say why we would still be bonded, since I used the right incantation and hand movement.” Malfoy’s eyes flickered away from Harry’s gaze for a second.

“You’re lying.” Harry said flatly.

“The one explanation was not applicable in our situation.” Malfoy’s eyes did not flicker this time.

“And I should trust your word why, exactly?”

“Because I’m smarter than you, and you couldn’t be arsed to do the bloody research.”

Harry nodded his admission at the statement. “So how do we get rid of it?”

Malfoy sighed. “It didn’t say.”

Harry rolled his eyes and slumped back on his bed. “Bloody brilliant. Shall we go to Flitwick then?”

Malfoy sighed again. “I suppose.”

“Are we gonna wait until next lesson, or are we gonna go now then?”

“Now. I don’t know about you but I’d rather not you have a door into my mind.”

“Likewise.” Harry swung his legs out, pulling shoes on and following Malfoy out of the door.

It was an awkward trip to the classroom - Harry wasn’t quite sure whether to walk beside Malfoy or behind him. He ended up in a mixture of both, on Malfoy’s left and about a pace behind him. He watched how Malfoy walked - gracefully, his arms loose by his side, shoulders squared and head held high. Harry, next to him, looked even shorter, shoulders curled inwards and generally facing the floor.

Malfoy knocked on the door, waiting for Flitwick. The tiny professor opened the door, and looked delighted, saying “Come in, come in, I don’t have a lesson or any marking and am rather bored…”

Malfoy cleared his throat. “Sir, the bonding lesson has had an...unexpected outcome.”

“Do tell!”

“We’re still bonded.” Harry said flatly. The professor puffed up with excitement.

“Does that mean…?” He didn’t finish his question, looking rapidly between Malfoy and Harry.

“No. There has to be another explanation.” Malfoy looked pissed off at the professor’s excitement.

“Allow me to cast some spells. Perhaps the spell did go wrong.” Flitwick smiled kindly at them, although his eyes were still unnervingly bright. He waved his wand, muttering some incantations under his breath, and Harry's breath caught. Malfoy was glowing with a silvery light, that set his eyes sparkling and hair glimmering. He looked down at his hands which were encased in the same silvery glow, although it didn’t suit his darker skin as well as it did Malfoy’s. Between them, a thread pulled tight from their chests, glowing brightly. Flitwick clapped his hands, while Malfoy’s face paled.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Harry was fed up of Malfoy and Flitwick having some coded conversation between themselves.

Malfoy shook his head, but Flitwick squeaked “You two are soulmates!”

“We’re _WHAT_!” Harry’s eyes widened, and he felt faint. Nobody had told him soulmates were real…

Malfoy, if it was possible, paled further. “They’re not real,” he said, voice quavering.

“Oh, but they are! Very rare for them to find each other - we haven’t had any here at Hogwarts for over twenty years - but very much real.” Flitwick was practically bouncing at this point.

“You can’t tell anybody.” Draco stared at the professor as if he’d turned into a pink pegasus and told them that he actually shit rainbows.

Flitwick looked disheartened, but said “Of course not - you two can tell people when you’re ready.” 

“That’ll be never, then. Is there any way to get rid of the bond?” Harry asked.

“What you two have is very special, and nobody who’s ever had it has ever felt the need to get rid of it. There is no research in the area of breaking soulmate bonds.”

“Bloody brilliant.” Malfoy rolled his eyes.

Harry wasn’t feeling very good about this. Granted, he and Malfoy were ‘soulmates’, apparently, but that meant Malfoy knew when Harry was having one of his episodes. He didn’t even tell Ron and Hermione about those - he certainly didn’t want Malfoy, who harboured no positive feelings towards Harry, knowing. What if he went to the press? Or an adult? Harry didn’t want anyone to help him - he should be able to help himself, and the idea of pity, of people looking at him with ‘understanding’ eyes, trying to tell him what to do...he couldn’t stomach it. Malfoy was giving him a look already, and Harry couldn’t take it.

“I’ve got to go.” Harry sprinted out of the room, all the way to the dorms. A couple of people yelled at him as he sprinted through the common room, but he ignored them in favour of locking himself in his bathroom, casting a hasty silencing charm and hurling his guts out into a toilet.

~

Draco was...numb. He considered what Flitwick had just said.

 _Soulmates_. He’d heard the stories when they were younger, but that's all he’d thought they were - stories. And now he was living one. With his long-time crush, no less.

Draco shook his head. He could consider the consequences later, but Potter was not taking it well. Draco could feel him panicking at the other end of the bond, and then he felt a wave of nausea. Brilliant.

“Thanks, professor.” Draco nodded at the professor, who smiled at him, before walking off. The corridors were empty, so Draco headed to the common room. He didn’t look at anyone, as the common room was oddly silent, and headed straight to the bathroom, which clearly had a silencing charm cast on it. Draco cast a locking charm on the bedroom door and a silencing charm at the bedroom door so no one except Potter would be able to hear him, before banging his fist against the door and yelling “POTTER! LET ME HELP YOU BECAUSE I FEEL FUCKING NAUSEOUS!”

He didn’t get a reply, so he continued hammering on the door. The panic and nausea didn’t decrease, so he grabbed one of his calming potions before storming in, and stopped in his tracks as Potter turned to face him.

His glamours had fallen, and Potter looked… _awful_. His hair was limp, instead of sticking out at all angles with its usual vigour. Potter’s usually tanned skin was paler, and extremely unhealthy, as if he hadn’t been outside in months. His eyes were dim, looking haunted with ghosts no one else could see. The bags under his eyes looked permanently carved into his face, a horrible purple-grey behind his glasses. His clothes, already too big with the glamour on, hung limply off his skeletal frame - his shoulders slumped, looking like he was carrying the world on his shoulders, his collarbones sticking out at the base of his throat and Draco was sure that his ribs were sticking out underneath his shirt.

Draco shook himself out of his stupor - Potter needed help. Probably not from him, but Draco was the only person there. “Fuck off, Malfoy,” Potter whispered, voice hoarse.

“Drink this, you prat. It’ll get rid of the nausea and calm you down.” 

Potter held out his hand for the flask, but promptly dropped it. A hasty levitation charm stopped it from smashing on the floor, so Draco sat next to Potter on the floor, grimacing at the smell, and held the flask up to his lips. Thankfully, Potter drank the potion - Draco didn’t know what he would have done if Potter was being difficult.

After Potter finished the potion, Draco vanished the vomit and stood up, holding Potter's skinny arm and pulling him up with him.

“Come on, get into bed, you skinny git. I bet you haven’t had any dinner either.” Potter shook his head, and Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ll get Granger and the Weasel to bring you some food.” He turned, but felt a spark of panic from Potter, and turned to face him. He was vigorously shaking his head, and repeatedly whispering “no”.

“What do you mean, no?”

“Don’t want them to worry. They have enough to deal with themselves.”

Draco sighed, and rubbed his forehead. So much for Potter being easy to deal with - of course the git was being a self-sacrificing hero. “Well what am I supposed to do with you then?”

“Don’t need to do anything.” Potter’s eyes were wide and sincere - he was either an idiot who believed he was fine, or an idiot who thought Draco was horrid enough to leave him in this state.

“Look at you, of course I need to do something, git.” Draco could feel both weakness and stubbornness through the bond. Brilliant.

Potter continued to shake his head, adamantly responding that he was “fine”. After about thirty seconds, Draco reached the end of his tether.

“Give me that invisibility cloak of yours - I know you have it - and I’ll get you some food from the kitchen.” Potter rolled his eyes, but clearly knew when he was beat, and gestured towards his bag. Draco pulled out the silken material, wrapped it around himself, and said “I’ll be back soon. I can’t believe you’re making me do this. Git.”

Draco was convinced he’d heard a chuckle as he walked out the room, and a warmth from the other end of the bond that usually eminanted emptiness.

The elves were a bit wary of Draco when he arrived but Kreacher (“of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black”) greeted him with a smile, very much at odds with what Draco remembered of the elf. He was wearing a snowy, white towel and a polished, green locket with a serpentine S. He also greeted Draco as “Master Malfoy”, and then “Master Draco”, after Draco told him that “Master Malfoy” reminded him too much of his father. 

Draco ended up going back to the common room with half a loaf of sliced, crusty bread, a lot of butter and practically a cauldron of soup, packed into a basket with extension and stasis charms. Draco cast a featherlight charm on it before taking it back up to the common room.

When he re-entered the dorm, Potter was passed out, but Draco didn’t embark on the perilous journey to the kitchens for nothing. He shoved at Potter’s unnervingly thin shoulder, who groaned and waved an arm weakly at Draco, tapping him on the arm.

“I brought chicken and sweetcorn soup, Potter. I know it’s your favourite.” Draco said, before shoving Potter again.

“‘M not hungry.”

“For chicken and sweetcorn soup, brought by yours truly, you are. Come on Potter, don’t be pathetic, it’s barely gone nine.”

Potter groaned again and sat up, looking as bad as before, except that his hair was worse. “If I eat will you fuck off?”

“Yes.”

“Fucking mother hen,” Potter grumbled, before taking the bread Draco held out, slathered on some butter and dunked it in the soup. “Why are oo’ ‘oin’ ‘is any’ay?”

“Don’t eat with your mouth full, Potter” Draco replied, avoiding the question. He really didn’t know, other than Potter had looked so pathetic on the bathroom floor, and at the thought of the darkness at the end of the bond, Draco hadn’t had the heart, or lack of, to insult him. “Perhaps I’m ill, I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”

“If you were ill, wouldn’t I be able to feel it?”

“Eat your soup,” Draco said, thrusting another slice of bread at him.

“You have some too, I’m not going to be able to finish this.”

“Maybe I should call Weasel...he always eats a lot,” Draco wondered out loud, but at Potter’s glare, heaved a sigh and buttered a piece of bread, before dunking it in Potter’s bowl of soup. They finished the meal in silence, Draco making sure that Potter ate his share, before, sleepy and full, he put the basket from the elves on the floor and climbed into his own bed.

“You’re not so bad, Malfoy,” Potter murmured, before falling into a deep sleep.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Potter,” Draco said to the silence.

~

Harry was hoping that with a belly of food, and with the image of concerned, grey eyes, he’d get a peaceful night’s sleep.

He was so, so wrong.

First, he was in the basement with Ron, Luna, Dean, Ollivander and Griphook. He spoke into the mirror; _”Please, help us,”_ but no one came.

He sat there for what seemed like an age, listening to Hermione’s screams, until Wormtail came down. But this time, his hand didn’t strangle him. He grasped Harry’s arm in a painful grip, and dragged him up the stairs. 

Hermione was on the floor, sobbing, Bellatrix having already carved the ugly word into her arm and was starting on her other arm. There was so much blood, seeping out onto the floor, into Bellatrix’s robes, at Malfoy’s feet.

He looked up at Malfoy - maybe he’d help, since he’d helped in the bathroom? But his face was oddly slack, his eyes unfocused. He raised his wand at Harry, but his arm shook, in the same way that it did that night on the tower.

Lucius Malfoy appeared at Malfoy’s ear, whispering _”Kill Potter...the Dark Lord will reward us…”_ but Malfoy’s hand continued to shake. _Kill me_ , Harry thought, not fearing for his own life but rather that of Malfoy’s.

He was paralysed in a kneeling position, watching Malfoy, his arm shake, the boy too good to kill Harry even under the Imperius. But then-

 _Crucio._ Voldemort was there, his wand trained on Malfoy, and those screams - Harry would never be able to unhear them, and he was screaming too, screaming at Malfoy to _get up, get off the floor and kill me before he kills you too_ -

And then he was being shaken awake, by slender hands attached to pale arms, face to face with wide, grey eyes.

~

Draco couldn’t remember dreaming that night, although he was very convinced he’d woken up to a nightmare.

He’d dozed off, and had a relatively peaceful sleep, despite the excitement of the day. He couldn’t remember anything regarding dreams - if he was tired enough, he never did, hence the clubbing - but had woken up to pure panic coursing through his veins.

He hadn’t felt anything similar since when he’d been on the tower to kill Dumbledore, but it had him picking up his wand and scanning the room for threats.

Then he’d registered the screams.

At first they’d been just that - screams - and that had been bad enough; Draco would have done anything to stop those screams.

And then Potter started speaking through the screams.

Draco quickly cast silencing charms on the room before running over to Potter, who was screaming and sobbing and saying “get UP, get UP Malfoy, kill me, he’s going to kill you,” and then Potter lost all of his anger and curled up, sobs wracking his skinny frame and repeatedly saying “they’re going to kill you, they’re going to kill you, they’re going to kill you.”

Draco was shaking Potter’s shoulders, yelling at him to wake up, and could have sobbed with relief when those green eyes snapped open, staring directly into his. Potter was still shaking, but at least he was awake.

“I - they - sorry” and then Potter had surged up and was clinging to Draco, still sobbing, head tucked into the crook of his neck and was murmuring “I’m sorry” between sobs, trembling like a leaf and refusing to let go. Draco brought his arms up - there was nothing else to do - and ran one hand down Potter’s back, the other at the nape of his neck, for about half an hour, until Potter stopped shaking. He purposefully ignored the words still bouncing around his mind; _kill me, before they kill you._

“I _am_ sorry. Both for practically attacking you and forgetting to put up a silencing charm.”

“A hug is not an attack, Potter. And what do you mean you forgot to put up a silencing charm?”

Potter averted his eyes, before muttering “didn’t want to wake you up.”

“I think the emotions coming through the bond would have managed that well enough. So this is a regular occurrence?”

“Yeah...I don’t normally get more than four hours of sleep.”

Draco cast a tempus and calculated they’d been asleep for around three and a half hours, but it was still two in the morning - enough for another five hours of sleep at least. “So you just...don’t go back to sleep?”

“Can’t.” Potter shrugged and swung his legs out of bed. Draco didn’t know what to say to that, so he watched Potter pull on his shoes, and his robe. “Go back to sleep, Malfoy. I’ll see you later.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Potter raised a finger, then pointed at Draco, then his bed. Draco sighed and dragged himself back over to his now-cold bed.

“At least call me Draco. We are _soulmates_ , after all,” Draco drawled. They had completely ignored the subject since seeing Flitwick, but Draco didn’t see the point in calling Pot- _Harry_ by his last name if he was comforting him after nightmares. 

_Comforting Potter._ Draco scoffed in his head. Who would have thought, a Malfoy comforting a Potter?

“Fine. But call me Harry.”

Draco pulled up his covers, and murmured “goodnight, Harry”, the words Harry had screamed while dreaming echoing around his head louder than whatever Harry replied.

_Kill me._

~

Harry felt horrible.

He watched Draco’s breathing even out before letting out a breath and letting go of his emotions slightly. He held his breath again as Draco shifted in his sleep - either a dream or a result of the onslaught of emotions Harry sent down the bond (he wouldn’t have, but he found it really difficult to keep them coiled up and hidden) - mostly shame, embarrassment, fear and guilt.

He really hadn’t meant to not put up his silencing charm - it was the first night since he’d stopped taking dreamless sleep that he’d forgotten. It was weird that he’d let his guard down more with Draco than with himself - it must have been the soup. Chicken and sweetcorn was his favourite.

It was the first time Draco had featured prominently in his dreams as well - but that wasn’t particularly important. Other people had featured in the same position before.

What made Harry feel most guilty wasn’t waking up Draco - no, the boy had easily fallen asleep again. What he felt most guilty about was the fear in Draco’s eyes - worry lines creased on his head, pupils desperately scanning Harry’s face, pulse racing when Harry hugged him.

Shit. He _hugged_ Draco. _That’s not the thing to focus on here_ , he mentally chastised himself. 

He didn’t know when, exactly, Draco stopped being such a prat; then again, he couldn’t imagine Draco kicking him when he was down. He’d come out with some bullshit about honour. Never mind the fact that Harry had cut him open when he’d been crying in the bathroom.

He shook his head, heading towards the bathroom. He took a long shower, relishing the scalding water on his skin, scrubbing it raw as if he could scrub the guilt away.

He’d have to learn to hide his emotions at all times - nobody needed to be worrying about him. Even if he and Draco were no longer nemeses, that was all the more reason to hide them - he didn’t want anyone he cared about running after him all the time, worrying about whether he’s eaten or how he’s feeling. He’s fine.

Maybe slightly shocked by the revelation that he cared about Draco - his thoughts towards the blonde had done a one-eighty in the space of twelve hours - but _fine_.

Harry dragged himself out of the shower, regretting it as soon as the cold air hit him, but determinedly pulled on his school trousers, shirt and jumper, leaving his robes for the while.

He brushed his teeth and emerged from the bathroom. It had been two hours since he’d woken up, meaning he had another four hours in which to contemplate his existence.

He went down to the common room to stare into the dying embers of the fire for a few hours. He’d really have to start sleeping later - he had far too much spare time in the morning.

Around six-thirty, he went back up to his room, treading quietly so he didn’t wake up Draco. He pulled on his school robes and put everything he needed into his bag, before heading down to the library and pulling a few books about the topic of soulmates.

Most of it was speculation and fairytales - he scoffed after reading the first few lines of one of them, which was clearly an erotic novel - but one of them was particularly useful. It had been written by a couple who were both researchers and soulmates, and had done a considerable amount of viable research on the subject.

_’Soulmates, while rare, exist outside of fairytales. They are not often found because the easiest way to identify them is through a temporary bonding charm - they are a lot stronger, more easily identifiable and permanent between soulmates. There are other ways - some complex charms could identify whether your soulmate is in the vicinity, and there are some extremely difficult and complex potions that can lead you to your soulmate. These, however, are illegal, as they are dangerous to brew and can result in killing your soulmate if brewed even slightly incorrectly, without leading you to them._

_‘Soulmates are a pair of souls that are extremely compatible. They often lead to romantic relationships, however platonic soulmates do exist. Generally, the feelings towards one another between soulmates are mutual, and they can bring great joy to one another, however any hurt caused by a soulmate, physical or emotional, can be much worse if inflicted with purpose, after a bond has been established.’_

Harry shook his head. Draco seemed perfectly content when he’d left - but Harry couldn’t hurt him. He put the books back and got some on occlumency - he’d failed terribly when Snape tried to teach him, but perhaps now that he was motivated towards a goal he would pick it up quicker. Not that keeping Voldemort out of his mind wasn’t a good goal, but the link had proved more helpful than not.

He felt a twang in his chest at the memory of ‘not’. He pushed the sadness and guilt of Sirius’ death deep down, into the cocoon of emotions he kept tucked around his heart, and started skimming one of the books. It was quite informative, and Harry reached down to pull out some parchment to make some notes, before noticing that some Ravenclaws were exiting the library.

Casting a quick _tempus_ , he realised he had five minutes to get to lesson and put the books back on their shelves, before hurrying to defence.


	4. No Smut (sorry)

Being aware of the soulmate bond just made Draco more aware of the emptiness radiating from the other end.

He’d grown up on fairy tales about soulmates - they always started with some made-up artefact, or spell which decidedly didn’t work, but it wasn’t those that had enraptured Draco. It had been the relationships - he’d always been a romantic (and always tried to hide it), and he’d always dreamed of having a soulmate. In his head it was a whirlwind romance - a brief, pure blood courtship, filled with flowers and presents, confirmed by a kiss under the stars. As he’d aged, he’d dreamed of being swept into Potter - no, Harry’s arms - Harry protecting him from Slytherin’s monster, from Black, being swept into Harry’s arms after one of his tasks in fourth year.

Then he’d dreamt of Harry rescuing him from the Voldemort’s grasp, being whisked away to wherever Harry was hiding. He’d dared to hope, when Harry had been in his basement, that when he broke out he’d take Draco with him. But he’d just taken his wand, leaving him near-defenceless against the death eaters in his household.

Dreams of Harry had kept him from spiralling, during those times when Nagini slithered outside of his room, when his father had looked at him with such disdain in his eyes. He’d determinedly kept Harry away from Voldemort’s probes into his mind, guarding them fiercely and giving up little pieces of himself instead. But never Harry.

When Flitwick had pronounced them soulmates, Draco had felt numb - all of dreams had literally come true. The panic that had set in from the other end of the bond had crushed any elation Draco might have felt.

However, Draco was quite sure he was the only person who had seen Harry’s true self. The fear he’d felt when mentioning the other two thirds of the golden trio...well, they weren’t much of a trio anymore. At breakfast, it had just been the couple, whispering over eggs and toast, laughing with the Gryffindors. Harry hadn’t even been there.

When he’d seen how skinny Harry had been, he hadn’t registered the other emotion he’d felt at the time. But now, thinking about it - he felt protective of the Gryffindor. He hadn’t wanted anything to happen to him before, but hadn’t been opposed to the occasional hex. Now? He felt ill at the _thought_ of hurting him.

He sighed and shook his head. He’d put up barriers to prevent Harry from feeling his emotions, but he didn’t know how good Harry was at leglimency.

He shook himself from his daydreaming and focused on walking to the common rooms. He’d had defence this morning, in which he and Harry hadn’t acknowledged each other by anything other than a nod of the head, and runes, which had been interesting as usual. He had a free lesson and then lunch, and was planning on staying in his room for both.

He turned into a corridor that was empty other than a gaggle of fifth years. They all glared at him - it was disconcerting to have six pairs of eyes, all glaring at him - but he deliberately kept walking, steps not faltering.

Not until he’d just passed them, and heard a whispered tripping jinx. He fell in an undignified heap, and was then petrified and levitated into an empty classroom. 

“Death eater scum.”

“Shouldn’t have come back.”

 _Yes, well I can see that_ now _, can’t I_ Draco thought, inwardly rolling his eyes.

“What shall we do to it?” 

Draco felt a boot literally kick him up the backside. Then they were coming from all angles - on his legs, his ribs, his face. _Now I know how Harry felt on the train._

Draco took it all without complaint - not that he could have complained - as it was nowhere near the pain of the _cruciatus_ curse, which he’d experienced far too often in the last couple of years.

Then, Draco felt panic - nothing like what he’d felt from Potter at the announcement of them being soulmates. Just as Draco had figured out it wasn’t his Slytherin self-preservation, but coming from the end of the bond that was normally empty, it sharpened into something...worse. Not at Draco - this new emotion promised destruction. Vengeance.

After what seemed like an age, Draco aware that Harry could burst through the door any moment - hopefully not now, the prat was in no shape to be beating up fifth years - they finally saw sense, and lifted the jinx. “You will not breathe a word of this to any teacher, or there will be much worse to come” was whispered in Draco’s ear, before he heard the door open and close, and footsteps walk away. He slowly uncurled, taking note of what was wrong - a few broken ribs, and a broken nose, easily fixed by an _episkey_ \- many, many bruises, that would use up most of his bruise salve - a few cuts, which would need dittany. Altogether, not too bad. Although he’d rather sort himself out in his room. He wasn’t too far when he’d been assaulted.

He stiffly stood up, testing his joints. He could walk well enough. He got his wand - miraculously not snapped - and cast some glamours over his face and body, that would make it appear that he was walking normally, before making his way to the dorms. There was no one in the common room, so he hastily walked into his room, almost colliding into Harry, who was pacing.

“Finally - what did I feel through the bond, who hurt you?” Harry stepped back, looking at Draco, who was shocked at this behaviour from Harry. “Why don't you look hurt? I felt-“

Harry abruptly stopped rambling, as Draco waved his wand and removed the glamours. “Would you please get the bruise salve and dittany from my trunk?”

Harry nodded, and walked over to Draco’s trunk, unlocked with a wave from Draco’s wand. Draco walked over to the mirror, and fixed his nose, before removing his robes, jumper and shirt, grunting at the pain from moving his arms. He fixed his ribs, before turning, about to ask Harry what was taking so long. Harry had been staring at his back, and was now staring at Draco’s face, and torso, looking at his various injuries, bruises already blooming.

“I’ll be fine, just need a bit of salve and dittany.” Draco made to reach for the bottles in Harry’s hand, but Harry caught Draco’s wrist in his other hand. 

“Let me - it’s the least I can do.” Harry looked up into Draco’s eyes from under his lashes, his words barely a whisper. Draco couldn’t identify what he was feeling through the bond.

Harry didn’t wait for an answer, but unscrewed the top of the bruise salve and took a small quantity onto his fingers. His fingers, featherlight, rubbed the salve into Draco’s cheekbone, green eyes staring into his the entire time. After one cheek Harry moved onto his other cheek, and jaw, before moving onto his shoulders, his arms, his waist. Nobody had done this for Draco since...he was five, or so, and he’d been bitten by one of the peacocks. His mother had sat him down in the kitchen and applied dittany, then bruise salve, and then they’d had hot cocoa.

Now was a different situation. His soulmate, who he’d comforted last night, was applying dittany into a bruise on his side, green eyes slightly narrowed, and Draco could feel small waves of anger gently pulsing through the bond. Hopefully not at Draco.

Then Harry turned Draco around so he was staring at his reflection in the mirror while Harry rubbed salve into his back. He was taller than Harry, so he couldn’t stare at the other boy through the mirror. His front was completely flawless - Harry had evidently applied dittany to the cut on his cheek while Draco was staring at him.

After Harry had rubbed salve dangerously close to Draco’s arse, he asked “Are there any more?” In a low, gravelly voice. 

Draco hesitated for a moment, before removing his trousers, standing before Potter in only his underwear. He started blushing as Harry started staring, just at him, before saying “Enjoying the view?” It was an intimate moment, but Draco didn’t deal well with delicate situations.

Harry lightly huffed, before crouching and starting on the bruises on his legs. There weren’t many, and none of then were _high up_ , so it didn’t lead to an uncomfortable situation.

“Thank you, Harry.” Harry smiled, a soft, precious thing. Which quickly changed as his eyes glinted dangerously.

“Who did it? You’re welcome, but I shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“Nobody. I don’t know their names.”

“Really?” Harry raised an eyebrow. Draco decided not to focus on the fact that him being injured had led to the most emotion he’d felt from Harry since charms.

“Really. I don’t talk to most people in the lower years, especially those outside of Slytherin.”

Harry deflated, as if he’d been expecting this. He went and sat on his bed, head in his hands. Draco went and sat next to him, and rather daringly, he thought, put his hand on Harry’s back, rubbing small circles into it.

“I just don’t understand. The war is over. There is no need for prejudices anymore. What is wrong with people and why can’t they just let. It. Go.”

“Well a lot of people lost people in the war, and they deal with it differently. For some people, that means using me as their punchbag.”

“But you didn’t do anything to them!”

“I might have in the past. Or my relatives might have.”

“But you’ve changed. And you’re not your relatives. Why aren’t you angry?”

Draco’s heart broke at the tone of Harry’s voice. It broke a little more when he answered his own question; “You think you deserve it.”

Draco sighed and didn’t deny the question. That’s how, for the second time in twenty-four hours, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter ended up hugging on a bed, although this time it was both of them with tears streaming down their faces.

~

Harry had been lying in bed, staring at the wall, when he’d felt a shooting pain at the top of his thigh.

Then it had started from all angles - on his head, arms, ribs…

After taking account of his surroundings, he’d realised that he must have been feeling this through the bond. The pain was mediocre for Harry at worst, but it was clearly an echo of what Draco was feeling, and getting worse - Draco definitely had some broken bones.

Harry’s hands had started shaking, and he’d jumped out of bed and started pacing - what was going on? Why was Draco in so much pain? Had he fallen down the stairs? What if he couldn’t move?

But after feeling a distinct kick to the nose that set his eyes watering, Harry realised someone was beating up Draco. Many someone’s, if the rate of the kicks was any indication.

Many someones that would need to be punished.

Harry opened the Marauder’s Map, searching desperately for Draco’s name - and there it was, not thirty seconds from the common room. He made to get up, before stopping - he was itching to return the favour to the six people whose names he’d never heard before, but realised that he would have no idea what they looked like. And as he watched, they walked out of the room, leaving Draco alone. He’d have to hunt them down with the Marauder’s Map - later. Now, he had to look after Draco.

He watched the name on the Map, making towards the door as it didn’t move, but then it did. Harry felt a flood of relief as the feet beneath the name started stiffly walking - towards the common room. Harry cleared the map and started pacing again - who knows what state Draco would be in, and Harry couldn’t be a mess when he arrived.

Despite being prepared, Harry jumped when Draco walked in, and was even more surprised when Draco appeared to be unharmed. “Why don’t you look hurt? I felt -“

Harry cut off as Draco’s glamours were removed. His shoulders were slumped, head down - the boy looked completely and utterly defeated. It broke Harry’s heart - he’d never seen the haughty, sneering boy without his chin in the air, a sparkle in his eye. He was bleeding from a cut on his cheek and his nose, and the other cheek was mottled with bruises. He went to Draco’s trunk to get the dittany and salve, turning to see that Draco was just in his trousers. His back was littered with cuts and bruises, and as he watched some of Draco’s ribs snapped back in place. Draco turned around, and Harry saw his front was quite similar to his back - Harry cringed to think of hard boots sinking into Draco’s pale, soft flesh.

Draco held out his hand, saying he’d be fine with the dittany and salve but...Harry didn’t want Draco to have to move with all those injuries. And he’d comforted Harry last night - Harry could do this, now.

“Let me do this - it’s the least I can do,” Harry had said, already dipping his fingers in the salve. He focused on the task at hand - there was something therapeutic about the way the bruises and cuts faded under his fingers, how Draco relaxed, how those trusting grey eyes stared into his own.

When Draco had removed his trousers, well - Harry hadn’t wanted it to end, whatever this was, but he definitely hadn’t considered what would happen for it to continue.

His mouth had gone dry at the sight of the expanse of skin - he’d never fully registered it before, but Draco, for all his pointiness, was graceful and willowy - long, delicate limbs, slim but covered with a layer of muscle. He was embarrassed when Draco had asked if he was “enjoying the view” because he, well, was. He’d dutifully healed the bruises on Draco’s legs, and finally asked Draco who’d done it. Not because he didn’t know - he’d committed the names he’d seen on the map to memory - but because he wanted to know what Draco thought. He was back to his old self - despite only being in his underwear, he had his head held high and his back was straight. He hadn’t said their names, claiming he didn’t know - which was viable, since Harry hadn’t known either - and he’d gone to sit on the bed, put his head in his hands. This was no time for Draco to have a hero complex. Harry wasn’t going to go after them, if Draco didn’t want him to.

Harry asked Draco why he wasn’t angry, and the blonde hadn’t replied, just rubbed comforting circles into Harry’s back. When Harry looked up, into Draco’s eyes, they’d flickered, just for a second. He’d temporarily shifted into the Draco who had been hidden behind the glamour when he first walked in - and Harry knew. Knew how Draco felt, knew why, but he also knew that Draco was wrong. He hadn’t had a choice, since his parents had been threatened. He hadn’t had the choice, at the start of the battle, to give himself up for everyone else. For Fred. For Colin. For Tonks and Remus. 

These people were attacking the wrong person, Draco hadn’t killed their families. If Harry had been a little quicker...perhaps they needn’t have died.

And the war was over. People had to grieve, but this was not the way.

Harry leant into Draco, allowing himself to be encircled in long, strong limbs. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco. He knew they were both crying, could feel the shuddering breaths Draco dragged in as he nestled his face into the soft skin just above his collarbone.

He couldn’t believe this was his soulmate. His initial concern had been that Draco would tell others. Well, that _Malfoy_ would. Malfoy was his nemesis, a boy who was nothing but sneers and mean comments. Draco wouldn’t tell anyone. Not Draco who was crying on Harry’s shoulder, not Draco who had sat with Harry for half an hour, until he calmed down.

Not Draco, his soulmate.

~

Drying his eyes, Draco cast a tempus behind Harry’s back. It was five minutes until lunch, and while Draco hadn’t been planning on going down, Harry was extremely thin under his glamours and clothes.

Draco pulled back, looking into those bloodshot green eyes, and while he was pretty sure he knew the answer, he asked “lunch?”

Harry shook his head, looking down as if ashamed.

“Because you’re not hungry, or because you don’t want to see anyone?”

“Both.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper, after the shouting and crying.

“I’ll go get some. Where’s your cloak?” Draco asked, pulling on his uniform.

Harry gestured to his cloak draped over his chair, looking confused. Draco rolled his eyes and drawled “not _that_ one, idiot.”

Harry rolled his eyes in reply, before getting up on unsteady feet and pulling the shimmering material out of his trunk, bundling it up and throwing at Draco. Draco caught it easily and pulled it on, calling out “be back soon” before slipping out of the door. 

He followed Granger and the Weasel out of the common room - the redhead was whining about food, while Granger fondly shook her head. At least, if he was following them, he wouldn’t have to worry about people noticing the door opening randomly.

He listened to their conversation going down. It was mostly small talk - what would lunch be, lessons and the like. But Draco perked up as Harry’s name was mentioned.

“...Haven’t seen Harry in a while. I know he’s working through some stuff but I didn’t expect him to change so much. I miss him.” Granger looked guilty. _But not guilty enough_ , Draco thought. Maybe if they’d put more effort into looking out for him he wouldn’t be in the state he was, hiding in their room.

“I miss him too, but I don’t think he wants us there. He never talked at mealtimes - it’s like he wasn’t even there!”

“Haven’t you noticed, he hasn’t been there at dinner or breakfast?”

The Weasel was looking extremely guilty as well.

Granger sighed. “I know we all have our stuff, and we’re working through it differently, but we need to talk to him soon.”

Weasel perked up. “We have charms with him next!”

“Okay, but don’t be tactless.” At this point, the couple turned into the Great Hall. Draco considered following them, but there was a much higher chance of an invisible person being discovered in the crowded Hall than the relatively empty corridors. He dodged a group of Hufflepuffs and headed down to the kitchens. Despite the business of lunch, the elves were all too happy to provide Draco with food, and he left with an extremely heavy basket under the cloak. He didn’t know what was inside, but the elves’ cooking was excellent, and whatever was in the Hall smelled good.

Draco power-walked to the dorms, walking in with a sense of déja vu - Harry was lying on his bed, eyes closed. 

“Food!” Draco announced, sitting at the end of Harry’s bed without invitation and putting the basket on Harry’s stomach. 

Harry groaned and waved a hand at Draco, before grunting “How am I supposed to get up with a Hippogriff on me?”

“It’s the food,” Draco said, hauling the basket off Harry, who hastily moved into a sitting position before Draco dropped the basket on him again.

“What have we got?”

“No idea. You know you’re going to go down to the Hall at some point, your friends are worried.”

Harry sighed, slumping further. “I know. I just...don’t want to be there. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Well I’ll just go then,” Draco said, making to get off the bed. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Harry didn’t tell him to stay - it was more of a ploy to see what Harry thought.

Sure enough, Harry’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “No you will not. You don’t count as ‘anyone’.”

“Such high praise.” Draco allowed himself to be dragged back to the bed, opening the basket and pulling out a plastic box. The sight of it made Harry chuckle.

“You know what I mean, I know you do. I can feel it,” Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows at Draco. He chuckled at the sight of the box again.

“What is so funny about the box?”

“It’s called a Tupperware. It’s muggle.”

Draco looked at the box again. He wasn’t ignorant, he knew what plastic was - and the translucent material did seem ideal for holding food. Muggles were surprisingly innovative without magic, Draco found.

“It does seem quite good. Better than carrying plates, since these pose a lower risk of spillage.” Harry looked at Draco as if his head had inflated and floated off his shoulders, spouting fortune cookie predictions. “I’m not my father, you know.”

“You think I’d be your soulmate if you were your father?”

Draco froze, halfway through opening the box.They’d managed to avoid discussing the topic before, but now they were sitting together, and likely would be for the next half an hour or so. A lot had changed in the hours since the charms lesson. He turned to look at Harry - the boy had frozen, and a slow wave of fear was taking over at the other end of the bond.

“We do need to talk about that, to be fair.” Draco said, attempting to cut the tension in the room.

Harry slowly chewed on the sausage that was in his mouth, audibly swallowing before saying “do we though?”

“Yes, dipshit. What do you know about soulmates?”

“Well it's like the two most compatible people, isn’t it? And we have a stronger mind bond, and most of them are romantic…” Harry trailed off, blushing.

“They don’t have to be, though. And yep, that’s pretty much all the solid facts known about them. There are various theories, about sharing magic, and...other stuff, but none of it is confirmed.”

“Sharing magic?”

“It’s just a theory, but there was a legend about two soulmates who were in a war. The other side varied - sometimes it was muggles, sometimes dark wizards, sometimes various creatures - but it always ended with them joining hands, and as one of the wizards had the knowledge of how to do the spell to defeat the other side and the other wizard had immense power, they shared the magic to defeat them.”

“That sounds...intense. I’m glad our war has finished.” Harry shuddered, before continuing. “Two wizards? Was it a platonic relationship?”

Draco frowned - he wasn’t sure about the beliefs Harry had been brought up with, and while Harry was very accepting he wasn’t sure what the tone of his voice suggested. “No, it was homosexual. That’s where another of the theories arose - in the case of two male soulmates, they can get pregnant.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know the wizarding world was so accepting of gays. My uncle - he wasn’t the nicest person, but he was a raging homophobic, and there wasn’t much representation of homosexuals in the muggle world, from what I saw. It’s nice to know that the wizarding world got at least one thing right.”

“Yeah, well, some pure blood families aren’t so accepting - what with their obsessions of ‘continuing the bloodline’ - but overall everyone is alright with it.”

Harry bit his lip. “I’m gay. Or maybe bisexual. I haven’t come out to anyone yet - not even Ron and Hermione.”

Draco was a bit taken aback at the sudden confession, but gathered his wits enough to reply “I’m very gay, if that’s any consolation.”

Harry grinned, and took another bit of sausage. He was coming more to life with each passing hour.

~

Harry felt like a huge weight had been taken off his chest.

Sitting there, grinning like a loon at Draco while stuffing half a sausage in his mouth, Harry felt...free. To be himself.

What ‘himself’ was, exactly, Harry didn’t know. At the Dursley’s, he’d been small and unassuming, trying his best to not get a beating. Throughout his years at Hogwarts, Dumbledore encouraged his reckless ‘bravery’ in a way no adult should. He went after Quirrel when he was _eleven_ , for Merlin’s sake! Looking at the little kids running around the school now, it made Harry feel sick to his stomach. Even the fourth years seemed titchy - that was when he’d seen Voldemort return. Looking back, he saw that he’d been manufactured into a weapon. Not that that hadn’t started with the Dursley’s - that recklessness demonstrated a lack of value for his own life.

After the Battle, he’d felt hollow and empty. He’d felt pressured to start a ‘normal’ life with Ginny - but that had fizzled out within a week. After that, he hadn’t really known what to do with himself - just drifted around Grimmauld, dutifully showing up at the Burrow under glamours.

He hadn’t realised that he’d been shackled under the expectations of everyone else until he and Draco had started this...friendship. There wasn’t really any proper name for it - they comforted each other (or Draco comforted Harry, although Harry is perfectly willing to return the favour), Draco brought food which they ate together (in companionable silence - a world away from the lively Gryffindor table, and not unpleasant) and Harry had rubbed bruise salve on Draco. Which was not a ‘friend’ thing to do, but…

Harry shook his head. There was no reason to be having _those_ thoughts. Just because Draco’s gay doesn’t mean he’s gay for Harry. The state that he’s in, _nobody_ is gay for Harry. Or straight for Harry. 

He sighed and stuffed the rest of the food in his Tupperware in his mouth. 

“Feeling melancholy?” Draco raised an eyebrow at Harry, the effect thrown off by the gravy at the side of his mouth.

“Contemplating life and all its contents. And how messily you eat.” Harry replied, the corners of his lips twitching at the outrage written across Draco’s face.

“I have the manners of a pure blood.” Draco sniffed, sticking his chin up in the air.

“Tell that to the gravy on your face.” Harry smirked as Draco started scrubbing furiously at his face, completely missing the spot of gravy. “You missed it.”

“I did not.” Draco continued looking down his nose at Harry.

“You did.” Harry smirk softened as he reached out with a napkin and wiped away the gravy from Draco’s mouth with his thumb, waving it in front of the blonde’s face.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Clearly magic.”

Harry sighed, defeated. “We need to leave for charms soon, you know.”

Draco groaned and flopped backwards on the bed, hands clasped on his stomach. “I cannot be fucking arsed.”

“Yes you can. You’re going to sit with me and tolerate all of Flitwick’s eccentricities.”

“Oh Merlin, he’s going to be all weird about us being soulmates.”

“He’d better not, I am not dealing with Ron’s bullshit. He’ll think you’ve engineered it for your own benefit or some shit.”

Draco gasped dramatically, raising a hand to his forehead. “As if I would ever! What kind of cold hearted bastard would dare entrance the precious Saviour!”

“This cold hearted bastard, of course.” Harry poked Draco in the waist, who rolled away.

“If anyone is a cold hearted bastard here, it is clearly you, for poking an injured soul.”

“Fuck off, you’re well enough to overdramatically flop around on the bed like a fish out of water.” Harry was slightly concerned about injuring Draco, but was quite sure he’d done his job well with the bruise salve.

“I am not a fish! I am a damsel in distress.”

“Maybe we should get you some pink, flowing skirts then, to swish around the school.”

“Say what you will, I could pull off pink, flowing skirts.”

Harry raked his eyes over Draco - blonde hair slightly dishevelled from rolling around on the bed, shirt untucked and tie loosened. _This_ was the real Draco - not the haughty, sneering boy with too much gel in his hair, strutting around school as if he owned it. This Draco, with laughter sparkling in his eyes, dimples in his cheeks and completely relaxed posture. This Draco - he made Harry want to find out who he was when he wasn’t hiding from Dudley, or hunting horcruxes.

Harry shook his head at Draco, tucking in his own shirt and redoing his tie. Draco clearly wasn’t impressed, as he finally deigned to get off the bed, grabbing Harry’s tie and redoing it for him. A blush spread down his neck as he stepped away, muttering “he can kill a Dark Lord, but can’t tie a basic half-Windsor knot.”

Harry huffed, pulling his cloak around him and checking that his bag had everything he needed. He cast his glamours, before asking Draco “You coming?”

“You want to walk together?” Confusion was written across Draco’s face.

“Yeah - we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We need to stop answering questions with questions.” Draco shook his head. “Yes we’re friends, I just assumed you wouldn’t want to be seen in public together.”

“I killed Voldemort, being seen with you isn’t going to ‘tarnish my reputation’ or anything. And also, I do not care.” Harry crossed his arms - he wasn’t leaving without Draco.

“Well, when you phrase it like that…” Draco raised an eyebrow, before stalking out of the room. Harry followed close behind, for once not worrying about anything other than how much homework Flitwick was going to set.


	5. Hold up, are we flirting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Props to @thatmeggybench for the chapter title ❤️
> 
> This chapter contains graphic descriptions of self-harm. From Draco’s point of view, it starts at “Shaking, he looked at his arm” and finishes at “Thank Merlin Harry was still alive.” From Harry’s point of view, it starts at “He panicked again when he saw the empty bed, the open trunk” through to the end. All of these phrases are in bold, and there will be a brief description in the notes at the end of what happened.

Draco was getting in too deep.

It was one thing to be comforting Harry when he has nightmares, when he’s shaking and not in a good place and willing to take comfort from anyone. It’s another to be flirting and joking around, staring at those emerald eyes and tying his tie, holding it for a moment too long.

He walked side by side with Harry - as if they were equals. Harry ignored the stares of the others, briefly looking around the common room for his friends before heading straight out. Draco kept his head held high, stealing sideways glances at Harry when no one was looking. Harry didn’t say anything, but not out of awkwardness - over the last twenty-four hours they’d perfected the art of companionable silence. 

They walked into Flitwick’s room. Draco tried to take a chair in the back corner, like he usually did, but Harry dragged him to the front, with the wall on one side and Harry on his left. 

The Weasel and Granger entered the room two minutes later, sliding into the chairs closest to Harry. They shot glares at Draco, but they were...milder than the ones he was used to.

“Harry, are you alright mate? You haven’t been in dinner, or breakfast, or lunch…” the Weasel looked at Potter with guilty eyes. _Tactless, but it could be worse_ , Draco thought, thinking back to the conversation he’d overheard when fetching food from the kitchen.

“Couldn’t be arsed. I got food from the kitchens yesterday, and it’s been enough to last me until now,” Harry said, dismissing the concern with a shrug.

“Does that mean you’ll be at dinner then?” Granger had leaned around the back of the Weasel to look at Harry.

“Yeah, sure.” Harry shrugged again. Draco thought he was overselling the moody, nonchalant fourteen year old act, but the couple seemed to buy it.

“Brill.” Both of them smiled, before starting a conversation between themselves about Merlin-knows-what. Draco was focused on Harry, who’s eyes flickered with tiredness before pasting on a vacant, almost-there smile.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Draco muttered under his breath.

“Sure. I’ll be fine. They shouldn’t have to worry.”

Draco sighed - now was not the time to be arguing about Harry’s self-sacrificing instincts. Never mind the fact that he was putting himself in situations that were likely going to result in a panic attack.

Flitwick, precariously balanced on top of a stack of books (Draco was sure it got higher every year) announced that they’d be working on the mind bonding charms again, with ‘the same partners that they had the lesson before’ (he dropped a significant look at Draco and Harry with that announcement).

“Bad luck again, Harry,” the Weasel said, dropping a look at Draco that rivalled Flitwick’s for subtlety, or lack of. 

“He’s not that bad, Ron,” Harry replied. The Weasel looked shocked, his jaw nearly hitting the ground, while Granger just looked contemplative. 

“Not that bad, am I? You’re full of compliments today. Best not give me any more lest my overly large head cause me to float away.” Draco said quietly once Harry had turned around and everyone was practicing their bonding spells.

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

“Oh, that’ll do it, Potter.”

Flitwick came over and swiftly erected a silencing charm before squeaking “Boys! Since you already have a bond, I’d like you to test it - try communicating using it, perhaps.” With that, he removed the charm with a flick of his wand and moved on to question another pair.

Harry waved his wand, doing the action completely wrong and mouthing the words of the charm. “Your wrist work is terrible, Potter.” Draco leaned back, demonstrating how to do it with his own wand.

“Try saying that down the bond. We both know I’m not going to be able to do it.”

“Well have a go, at least - clear your mind and - what are you doing?” Harry was making a weird face, scrunching up his nose and eyebrows. He looked quite adorable, in Draco’s opinion.

“Having flashbacks to when Snape tried to teach me to occlude.”

“Ah, well, he’s not the best teacher. Anyway, clear your mind - there can’t be much going on up there anyway - “ Harry rolled his eyes, “and feel inwards. Towards the back, there should be a rope. I’m going to try and send something over now, since I know how to find it.” Draco stared at the wall behind Potter, reaching into his mind with ease. He found the glowing rope - it was glowing brighter, and less tense than before - and looked towards the other end. Potter’s mind was wreathed in shadow and pain, but now he could see something inside. He knew his own mind appeared as a sixteenth century castle - weathered stone walls, surrounded by a glittering, blue moat, mist the same colour as his eyes hanging around the top. His mother had shown him the memory in the pensieve when she’d done legilimency to test his occlumency. 

Harry’s was...something different. Draco could see the silhouettes of trees, and a river lazily winding inwards. Harry’s mind must be at the end of the river - indeed, that’s where the rope seemed to go. No wonder Voldemort could have penetrated his mind so easily - it was as simple as following the river.

Draco thought about what he wanted to send down the bond - he settled on “git”. He thought about the word, about shouting it, before bundling those thoughts and shooting it down the bond. Then he pulled out to gauge Harry’s reaction.

“You can say anything, and you say ‘git’?”

“Brilliant, it worked. Have you found the bond yet?”

“Maybe. There’s this weird, shiny thread at the edge?”

“Yep, that’s the bond. Now try sending something down it.” Draco was impressed by how quickly Harry had found the bond - especially given how terrible he’d said he was at occluding. Then again, looking into your mind and actively defending it were two different things.

Just as Draco was thinking, he was surprised by a booming “PRAT” echoing around his skull in Harry’s voice. Trust him to shout into his skull, giving him a headache.

 _Not so loud_ Draco sent down the bond, not having to fully occlude this time.

 _This better?_ Harry asked.

 _Perfect._ Draco felt a spike of proudness through the bond.

 _Now what do we do?_ Harry waved his wand in a better approximation of the bonding spell than before.

_Fuck around?_

Harry sent an image of himself pulling a face through the bond - cross-eyed and sticking his tongue out. Draco sent one in return of him rolling his eyes.

They continued along those lines for the rest of the lesson, occasionally bickering out loud or waving their wands to hide the bond.

~

Harry had really enjoyed that charms lesson.

It was the first time he’d seen his mind - it was a dark, gloomy place, surrounded by trees. It just made it easier to see the bond - a brightly glowing thread, leading out into the open. By instinct, he’d shouted down the bond, laughing at the indignant tone in Draco’s voice as he’d said “Not so loud.”

He was pretty sure they’d been flirting throughout the lesson - Draco grasping his wrist to make him do the correct wand movement, overly sultry expressions being sent through the bond. But it could easily be viewed as banter between friends - so Harry ignored any impulses he had, ignored growing warmth in his chest at the sparkle in Draco’s eyes.

The lesson concluded too soon, in Harry’s opinion, as the lesson ending meant the next thing he’d be doing is dinner. Flitwick set them an essay on the spell, which Harry considered doing straight after the lesson - he’d also got an essay set earlier in transfiguration recapping turning live animals into other live animals, and would quickly fall behind if he didn’t keep on top of things. He walked out of the room directly behind Ron and Hermione, who quickly fell into step either side of him. 

“What are you gonna do now, Harry?” Ron asked. 

“Probably homework. Already got two essays set today.”

“You sound like Hermione!”

“Which is bad because…?” Hermione glared at Ron over the top of Harry’s head. She wasn’t that much taller than him, barely two inches, but it was enough that on her toes she could easily see over the top of his head. Ron, of course, was well over six foot at this point.

“I’ll have two people nagging me about homework!”

“I will not _nag_ you.” Harry glared at Ron.

“You won’t be doing last minute homework with me!”

“That's not equivalent to nagging, Ron.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Library, then?”

“Fine.” Ron groaned. “I’m not going to be happy about it though.”

“We’d expect nothing less.” Hermione grinned.

 _I’m going to the library to do homework. See you later?_ Harry sent down the bond.

_Sure. After dinner?_

_Yeah._ Harry figured that was something to look forward to, after dinner, which would probably be exhausting.

The study session was...fine. It wasn’t anything special - Ron wrote one line and then fucked around for the next hour and a half, Harry wrote about half of his transfiguration essay then joined Ron in fucking around, and Hermione wrote twice the amount required before worriedly wondering “will this be enough?”

After two hours they headed down to dinner. Walking into the Great Hall he ignored the images that bombarded him, determinedly looking around for a familiar flash of blonde hair. He started panicking as he didn’t see Draco, but suddenly remembered the bond. _Are you coming down to dinner?_

_No._

_Why not?_

I’m not hungry. Harry felt a pang of guilt at the reply, but reminded himself just how much he hated people coddling, and decided to talk to Draco when he got back.

 _Alright then. See you in a bit._ Harry felt a pang of worry when he didn’t get a reply, and resolved to sneak some bread and butter up to the dorm.

“Ay up Harry! Long time no see!” Seamus grinned at Harry as he sat down at the table.

“Seamus, you saw me in charms.”

“Long time no talk then. How are you? How’s rooming with Malfoy?” Everyone leaned in to listen to Harry’s answer. He recoiled a little under their stares, but reminded himself that no one needs to be worrying about him and steeled himself.

“It’s fine, we really just keep to ourselves.”

“That’s mature, Harry. Haven’t you fought yet?” Neville asked.

“I mean we’ve insulted each other and stuff, but it’s no worse than before in all honesty. What’s up with the obsession about Malfoy anyway?” Harry didn’t particularly want to admit how close he’d been to calling Draco ‘Draco’, which would undoubtedly raise unwanted questions.

“‘E’s go’ a poin’. Loo’ a’ all ‘is foo’!” Ron said, mouth already full of roast beef and potatoes. Harry loaded his plate with small amounts of everything, extra bread and a few little packets of butter. Why the elves served butter in little packets Harry didn’t know, but he wasn’t complaining now. 

Everyone tucked in, mouths full of food and inane conversation flying around. Harry relaxed slightly now that the interrogation was over, very aware of the other end of the bond. Draco didn’t appear to be feeling anything - he was probably reading, or doing homework, Harry reasoned. There were no feelings of fear or dread coming through, so Harry tried his best to eat a full meal. Whenever he knew no one was looking at him, he slipped a piece of bread and a packet of butter into his pocket.

After twenty minutes Harry was quite bored, had finished his food and felt he had an adequate amount of bread and butter, so he announced he was going to turn in for the night. There were a couple of looks of surprise, but they relaxed when he said he was “just catching up on all the sleep I should have got last year.”

He fast walked up to the dorms, almost sprinting by the time he got there. Draco was sitting on his bed, knees bent with a book resting on them and a lumos floating above his head. 

“I brought you some bread and butter,” Harry said, conjuring a plate and knife and levitating them over with the bread and butter.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” Draco replied, smiling softly anyway and taking the plate floating beside him, spreading butter onto a slice and sinking his teeth into the bread. He only ate a couple of slices, however, before stopping. “Are you going to stare at me all night?”

“Better than sleeping.” Harry shrugged.

“I am genuinely not hungry. Here, have some,” Draco held out the plate.

“I ate loads at dinner, also not hungry. Just leave it on the side in case you change your mind.”

Draco shrugged and said “okay,” putting the plate on the far end on his bedside table.

Harry got ready for bed in the bathroom, emerging to closed drapes around Draco’s bed. Sighing, he cast silencing spells and stared blankly at a book he’d pulled from his trunk, wondering why Draco’s eyes weren’t as lit up as before.

~

Draco didn’t know what he’d thought would happen at the end of the charms lesson. Perhaps Harry would have joined him in studying in their room. Perhaps he would have invited Draco to the study session (Draco would have declined, but it was the thought that counted). Either way, there was no excuse for the sadness that Draco hid behind mind barriers when Harry had walked off as the missing piece of the trio, rightfully returned. He didn’t belong with Draco - a Slytherin, a Death Eater, once a pure-blooded bigot. He belonged with the loyal Weasel and the smart muggleborn.

When Draco had asked Harry _After dinner?_ through the bond, the absent minded _yeah_ Draco had got in response wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Had they shared nothing, in the past twenty-four hours? One conversation with the other two Gryffindors and Harry remembered who he really was - Harry Potter, Saviour of the wizarding world, outgoing, reckless Gryffindor.

Draco dragged himself up to his room, first immersing himself in transfiguration homework and then ancient runes, determinedly ignoring the pulses of content from the other end of the bond.

After two and a half hours Draco felt a spike of panic, which caused him to bolt upright, before hearing Harry’s voice; _Are you coming down to dinner?_

Draco slumped down - Harry was just being nice. After Draco had looked after him, he felt indebted to Draco. _No._

 _Why not?_ Draco rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to pretend to be concerned.

 _I’m not hungry._ Explanation enough.

 _Alright then, see you in a bit._ He didn't even offer to bring Draco food. He was clearly just asking as a courtesy. Anyway, Draco didn’t need food. Or coddling. 

Draco sighed, turning back to his runes homework, but they turned and swam off the page. Huffing in irritation, Draco got ready for bed and slid under the covers, casting a _lumos_ and setting it hovering above his head, illuminating the pages of the book he’d picked up. Looking at the cover, he realised it was one he’d read before, so he opened it at a random page, reading the same sentence over and over as he listened for the door to open.

After about twenty-five minutes, the door creaked open. 

“I brought you some bread and butter,” Harry said, looking sheepishly at Draco from under his lashes while levitating over a plate with food on it. Draco smiled - he had brought food for him. Maybe he cared a little.

“I said I wasn’t hungry,” Draco murmured, tucking into the bread and stopping himself from groaning at the food - it had been four hours since he’d last eaten, and not very much at that - and while he was not hungry, you could never go wrong with some bread and butter.

Finishing his second slice, he looked up to see Harry watching him. “Are you going to stare at me all night?” He barely listened to Harry’s response, noticing how full he was. He held out the plate, telling Harry he was “genuinely not hungry.”

Harry declined his offer, going into the bathroom with some pyjamas he’d picked off his bed. Draco sighed, waving his wand to get rid of the light before putting the book on the side, not bothering to mark his page, closing the drapes and lying down, staring at the canopy over his bed.

He didn’t close his eyes until he heard the sound - or lack of - of a silencing charm being erected around Harry’s bed.

He didn’t lie there for long before being dragged down into a dream, remembering that he’d forgotten to occlude a moment too late.

~

Draco sprinted up the stairs to the astronomy tower, unsure as to whether he was sprinting _to_ Dumbledore or away _from_ the Death Eaters on his heels. Up and up the spiral staircase, he ran, hoping against hope that their intel was wrong, that Dumbledore wouldn’t turn up there.

He turned into the circular room, directing an expelliarmus at a snow-white beard. He pointed his wand at Dumbledore, who stood, tall, arrogant, wandless, facing Draco with a knowing twinkle in his eye. 

Draco jumped as he heard a cold voice in his ear, one that sent a chill down to his very bones. “Kill him,” said Voldemort. 

Draco turned for a split second to look into the red eyes glaring at him, before turning back to… _green_ eyes?

Now it was Harry staring at him, defenceless, hands by his side, not a muscle tense. Draco reached into the bond and just felt...acceptance. Draco shook his head no - this was not happening. He would not kill Harry, his soulmate.

 _”Kill him,”_ Voldemort whispered again, lips right next to Draco’s ear. Draco shook his head again, lowering his shaking hand down. He _will not_ kill his soulmate.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” Draco braced himself for Voldemort to raise his wand, readying himself to jump in front of the curse - but it never came.

Instead, he stared in horror at his left hand. The dark mark had come to life, the snake dancing across his pale skin. Pain radiated out, raising his arm, pointing his wand at Harry.

“No. No no no no NO!” Draco screamed, even as the words were hissed in his ear;

_”Avada Kedavra.”_

Green light shot out of his wand - straight at Harry, who didn’t even flinch - who fell backwards, almost gracefully, out of the tall window behind him.

“NO!” Draco screamed, bolting upright in bed. He sprinted to the bathroom, throwing up once, twice, into the toilet. **Shaking, he looked at his arm** \- the dark mark was faded, but still there. Before, he hadn’t had a big issue with it - it was just a tattoo, a bad mistake of his youth, one he had come to terms with - but now he wanted it _off_.

He stumbled out of the bathroom, not sure what he was looking for until he found his potions knife - gleaming, silver metal, sharp and ten times better than any provided by the school. 

He walked back into the bathroom, firing a _colloportus_ at the door, just in case. He held his wrist over the sink, staring at it. Did he really want to do this? Was this the correct decision? But then green light flared at the back of his mind, coming out of _his_ wand - the wand lying on the side of the sink - and an echo of pain radiated from the scar, and it had to go.

Draco barely flinched at the knife cutting into his skin, at the blood that trickled down his hand, concentrating on his task. Slowly, so slowly, the mark came off.

The next thing Draco knew, he was lying in Harry’s lap, his arm in a bowl of...something. Harry was murmuring under his breath “how could you be so stupid, you could have died, thank Merlin you had some dittany and murtlap...”

The last thing Draco remembered before drifting off to sleep again was the feel of Harry’s fingers gently combing through his hair, and that **thank Merlin Harry was still alive.**

~

Harry had been surprised when he’d been forced into Dumbledore’s place during the dream.

Normally, the dream forced him to relive the moment Dumbledore died, helpless to help. Never had he been forced into Dumbledore’s place. Others had, but never him.

Confusing as it had been, he’d never felt such dread as when he’d seen Draco shakily lower his wand, Voldemort whispering into his ear. He couldn’t move, couldn’t say a word, couldn’t do anything except attempt to convey his acceptance that yes, he must die, so Draco could live.

Draco had raised his wand again, and Harry nearly sagged in relief, before he saw his stare of horror and realised that he was being controlled similar to how Harry was. Harry tried his best to make it easy for Draco, trying his best not to flinch at the green light, but in his last moments of consciousness as he fell he couldn’t help but worry about Draco - what would happen to him, what would Voldemort do, knowing that he’d had to control Draco? 

All these questions whirled around Harry’s head as he bolted upright, trying his best to control his breathing. It didn’t take as long - around two minutes - so Harry opened the drapes around his bed, checking on Draco. **He panicked again when he saw the empty bed, the open trunk.**

He yelled “Draco?”, already moving to the bathroom. He pounded on the door, and tried to open it to no avail - he tried an _alohomora_ , but the door remained shut. Too panicked to think of the counter-spell, Harry yelled _”Bombarda!”_ , stepping through the doorway and sobbing at the sight in front of him. Draco was slumped on the floor, a bloody knife in his right hand, blood pouring from his left. Walking over, Harry almost threw up at the sight in the sink - a neatly cut patch of skin, clearly depicting the dark mark. Harry pushed the nausea down - Draco needed him, now was no time for panicking. 

Harry cast a stasis spell on Draco’s wrist to slow down the bleeding, before going to Draco’s trunk. He summoned the bottle of dittany he’d used the day before, and tried to summon what Hermione had used on his hand to stop it bleeding in fifth year. “It began with an ‘M’...mingled...moper...maple…” Harry was starting to hyperventilate, and took a couple of deep breaths before the word sprung to mind. _”Accio essence of murtlap!”_ A bottle shot out of Draco’s trunk, and Harry hurriedly conjured a bowl and ran back into the bathroom, tipping the contents of both bottles into the bowl before grabbing Draco’s arm and shoving it into the bowl. In order to get his arm fully submerged, Harry had to get Draco lying sideways on his lap, which took a bit of maneuvering. As Harry watched, the wound on Draco’s arm started to close up, and Harry removed the stasis charm. Eventually, Draco’s breathing evened out, and Harry’s evened out with it. Harry grabbed the wand off the sink - it was Draco’s, the one Harry had returned in the summer - and it sparked and heated in Harry’s hand as if recognising an old friend. Harry vanished the contents of the toilet, and the sink, before _scourgifying_ the blood from the floor, the knife, and the rest of Draco’s body.

Suddenly feeling exhausted, Harry sat back against the wall, gently threading his fingers through Draco’s soft hair, murmuring whatever came to mind under his breath. 

Eventually, Harry closed his eyes, eventually falling asleep with Draco in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Draco couldn’t stand the sight of the dark mark, and essentially cut it out of his arm before passing out. Harry, upon waking up and finding Draco in the bathroom, used Dittany and essence of Murtlap to heal the wound as best as he could and cleaned up the mess in the bathroom, before passing out with Draco draped across his lap.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! 
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated ❤️


	6. *Sing-song voice* HARRY’S GOT A CRUSH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some graphic description but not really? People tell me whether or not to put in warnings

Draco suddenly realised he was awake, but he didn’t move a muscle as he tried to figure out where he was. A dull pain was radiating from his left arm, so he didn’t attempt to move it. His bed was hard, and cold, and the painful arm was...wet? It was hanging off the bed inside a bowl of something. His pillow was oddly warm, and lumpy. _And a pair of legs_ , Draco realised, registering the still hand buried in his hair and the soft breaths sounding above him. He opened his eyes, seeing through his blurry vision a spotless bathroom. He hoped, for a second, that last night had been a dream, except why would he be asleep in the bathroom, on Harry’s lap, with his arm in a bowl of bloody liquid?

Draco pushed himself up with his right hand, sitting beside Harry as he drew the bowl over to his lap. He sniffed at the water - murtlap and dittany - before examining his arm. It was marred with raised, white scar tissue, going halfway up his forearm. Under the scar tissue...Draco almost threw up. While the mark was even more faded than before, it was still there, light grey against the pale skin. Draco flexed his wrist - there was a dull pain emanating from beneath the scar, but overall it could have been a lot worse.

“You should probably go to Pomfrey, you know.” Draco’s head snapped to the left to look at Harry. He looked a bit better than usual, surprisingly. The shadows under his eyes were a bit lighter, and his face had started to fill out. He still looked as if he’d arrived fresh from Azkaban, but it was a start.

“I’m not going to. Thanks for sorting me out - I haven’t had a particularly bad episode since being at the Manor, but I forgot to occlude before I went to sleep.”

“It’s no problem. What caused you to...well…” Harry gestured in a vague movement towards his arm.

“Try to cut half of my arm out?” Harry nodded, grimacing. Draco grimaced too, imagining the scene Harry must have walked in on - there were a lot of vital blood vessels there, so there would have been ridiculous amounts of blood. Draco considered whether or not to tell Harry about his nightmare...but how would he explain how badly being forced to kill Harry affected him?

Harry clearly figured that nothing else was coming out of Draco, so he started talking instead. “I had a really weird nightmare last night. It was on the astronomy tower - I was there that night, under my invisibility cloak.”

 _Of course you were_ Draco sent down the bond, scoffing. He didn’t really want to talk. 

“Anyway, I normally have nightmares about Dumbledore being killed, or other people I care about. But last night, I was forced into that position.”

Draco froze. Merlin’s pants, this better not be what he thought it was.

Harry continued, probably not oblivious to Draco’s reaction but talking anyway. “You were there, and _he_ forced you to kill me.” Draco didn’t need to be told who _he_ was. “Anyway, it wasn’t as bad of a nightmare for me as usual.”

“That was my nightmare,” Draco whispered. Whispered because his throat had closed up, and mind was blank with fear.

Surprise was sent down the bond, eliminating any suspicion Draco had of Harry already knowing. “We can _share_ dreams?” 

“Evidently,” Draco said, in a stronger voice now. It was light out, so he grabbed a wand and checked the time. “It’s 7:30, we should probably get moving.”

Harry was surprised, again. “I’ve never slept in for that long before.”

“Well one’s soulmate almost dying can do wonders for one’s sleep schedule, I’ve heard.”

Harry scoffed, running his eyes concernedly over Draco’s figure. Draco rolled his eyes, saying “I’m fine, get out, I need to go to the toilet!”

Harry rolled his eyes and left. Draco used the toilet, washed his face and brushed his teeth, walking out just as Harry pulled his jumper on. “All yours.” Draco gestured to the bathroom, not looking at Harry as he walked over to his bed, casting an ironing charm on his uniform that he’d left out the day before. He turned to make sure Harry left the room - a pointless endeavour, since Harry had already seen him in his underwear - before quickly changing. He was combing his hair as Harry walked out, glamours already in place.

“You should really get better with the glamours if you don’t want anyone to notice them, you know,” Draco said, carefully straightening the parting of his hair. He no longer put gel in it, favouring loose waves, but that doesn’t mean he could leave it like Harry’s.

“No one has noticed yet.” Harry stubbornly crossed his arms.

“I noticed on the first day back - you can see it shifting around the sides from certain angles.”

“Well you do it then, if you’re so clever.” Harry’s stubborn stance hadn’t changed.

“If I have to.” Draco dismissed Harry’s glamours with a wave of his wand, before murmuring under his breath and waving his wand in elaborate actions, weaving glamours seamlessly into one another like thread.

It took a whole minute, during which Harry had started fidgeting, but he seemed very impressed with the results when Draco said “done,” and he examined himself in the mirror.

“You can’t even see the shifty little edge bits,” Harry said, running his hands through the glamour, even though you couldn’t tell.

“That’s the point,” Draco replied, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re doing my glamours every morning from now on.”

“Am I now?” 

“Until I look well enough to not need them, at least.”

“To look well, you’ll need breakfast. Go on, I’m sure your friends are waiting.”

“You’re my friend too, you know.”

Draco felt a warmth in his chest at the statement, but said “Of course I am. We’ve already established this.”

“Are you coming down?”

“Not with you Gryffindors, I’m not.”

Harry sighed and leaned across Draco to tug on his right arm, saying “come on.”

“They won’t want to see me, you know.”

“I don’t care.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and gave in to the incessant tugging, taking his arm back before following a grinning Harry out of the door. Draco grinned at the back of Harry’s head, proud of making him smile like that.

Harry looked over his shoulder a couple of times, as if to check if Draco was still there, before striding into the common room, Draco following three steps behind.

“Harry! Why are you so late?” The Weasel waved at Harry.

“You’re looking better than usual,” Granger added.

“Thanks ‘Mione. And I slept in, Ron, don’t act as if you never do that.” Harry turned around to Draco and gestured him over. 

_They don’t want me encroaching on their breakfast!_ Draco shouted at Harry down the bond.

_I do._

Draco sighed and shuffled over, his movements at odds with his stiffly straight spine and expressionless face.

“Mate, what are you doing?” the Weasel muttered out of the corner of his mouth, the effect ruined by the volume of his voice.

“We’re friends.” Harry glared at the other boy. Draco’s heart jumped at the sight of it, at the righteous anger rippling gently through the bond. Granger just raised an eyebrow at Harry.

“Granger, Weasel-ly,” Draco sweated under the weight of their stares. He’d already called the Weasel Weaselly. He’d have to start calling him Weasley in his head, otherwise this would turn nasty very quickly. “I want to apologise for being a horrid prat these last seven years, calling both of you various horrible names, hexing both of you, and generally being a pureblooded ponce.”

Weasley looked shocked, with his mouth hanging half open - Draco expected that. Granger, however, looked calculating - her brows were slightly furrowed as she stared analytically at Draco. Harry was feeling proud - Draco didn’t need the bond to know this, his smile said it all.

After what seemed like an age, but was more likely five seconds, Granger held out her hand. “I accept your apology - any friend of Harry’s is a friend of mine, and I think you’ve changed for the better. Call me Hermione.”

Draco nodded and took her hand, noting her strong grip and steady posture. She’d never been one to mess with, but now her eyes conveyed a clear message:

_Hurt Harry, and you’ll wish you were never born._

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Weasley also stuck out his hand, and said “Same sentiment. Call me Ron.”

Draco took Wea- Ron’s hand, shaking it once before saying to the couple:

“Call me Draco.”

~

Harry grinned. He hadn’t told Draco what to do, but rather chucked him straight into the deep end with Ron and Hermione. In all honesty, he was very proud of all three of them - they’d buried the hatchet, to a degree. Hermione was discussing...something...with Draco. Runes, maybe? Harry had tuned it out at this point, he had no idea. He was talking to Ron about quidditch (“just because the Cannons have lost five years in a row doesn’t mean this isn’t their year!”

“Ron, they haven’t won a single match this year. They’re at negative points.”

“They can make a miraculous comeback!”), and Ron wasn’t glaring at Draco at all, which was more than Harry could have ever hoped for. 

As they walked into the hall, Draco froze in the doorway. Harry easily caught up with him and grabbed his arm, unceremoniously dragging him to the Gryffindor table. 

_They won’t bite...much_ , Harry said into Draco’s mind.

 _I’m not worried_.

 _Tell your legs that_ , Harry replied, as he was still dragging him along. Thankfully, Draco started walking properly, practically gliding to the table. He slid into the seat between Harry and Luna, who had joined Ginny.

“Hello Draco. Harry.”

“Hey Luna.” Harry leaned forwards to grin at Luna.

“Hello Luna, how are you?” Draco asked. Politely, but like they’d talked before.

“Very well, thank you. I see the nargles are leaving you alone, for once.”

“Probably my stint in the muggle world.”

“Yes, they do generally avoid muggles,” Luna smiled serenely.

Everyone else was gormlessly staring at the exchange, Harry included. Since when were these two friends?

He asked Draco, to which he replied _I used to bring her food while she was in my basement. I’m not heartless, you know._

 _Really?_ Harry smiled. Draco had noticeably relaxed now, engaging in conversation with Dean about nothing in particular. Seamus eyed Draco up, clinging obviously onto Dean’s arm, but Harry noticed that it was more to do with romantic jealousy than prejudice against the Slytherin. 

It became that this was the most enjoyable meal Harry had had at the Gryffindor table since he’d come back. It didn’t quite measure up to those intimate meals with Draco, sitting on one of their beds in comfortable silence, but this was a close second - Draco took all the pressure off Harry and brought it onto himself, allowing Harry to be in the presence of his friends without the pressure of being the Saviour. Hermione shot a couple of weird looks at him, but that was something to worry about later.

Harry ate a decent amount of food - an egg and half a piece of toast, and then he pinched some of Draco’s fruit - cut into perfectly even pieces - as well, much to his dismay. He often got a sharp elbow in his side for his troubles, but it was a small price to pay for the flush that crept up Draco’s neck afterwards.

As the day passed, Harry felt like he was on a high - he felt lighter than he had in the last year and a half, spending far too much time staring at Draco, admiring how the sun bounced of his pale hair, or how slightly softer light softened the harsh angles of his face, or how gracefully he did everything, from writing (in calligraphy, no less) to eating (with small, delicate bites and not a drop of food out of place. Harry felt even more honoured that he’d seem Draco with gravy on his face yesterday). All in all, Harry was completely and utterly obsessed - allowing him to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that _somehow, he’s going to fuck this up._

Draco joined them for dinner, nobody looking particularly surprised, integrating Draco into their conversations quite easily. Once, Harry was asked a question he didn’t have an answer to, and he felt his heart rate rising, his palms sweating. He needn’t have worried, however, as Draco smoothly inserted himself into the conversation and drawing the focus away from Harry, nudging Harry slightly with his knee as he did so. Harry would have thought it accidental except he knew Draco calculated his every move in public - there weren’t huge differences, but to Harry, Draco was clearly different here compared to how he was in the dorm.

Harry wasn’t quite sure when he noticed, but at some point he realised that he was falling in love with Draco. It didn’t quite hit him all at once, but rather seeped into the edges of his thoughts and settled into the corners of his mind, ready for him to acknowledge when he was ready.

Not that he was ready, as such, but apparently this particular day he was in the right mindset to be informed that this was something a bit more than a crush, at least.

Sighing, he looked over at Draco. They were both doing homework at their respective desks - Harry on the second half of his transfiguration essay, cursing his past self for not finishing it before, and Draco on his arithmancy (probably - there were a lot of numbers, but there were also some odd symbols that could be runes). Harry had almost finished, just a conclusion to do, but Draco seemed engrossed in his work, furiously scribbling, his cramped, scruffy handwriting nothing like the calligraphy Harry had noticed before. White teeth nibbled on his lower lip, which was slowly turning red, and his eyes narrowed in concentration as he reached a particularly difficult sum (translation? Harry genuinely had no idea).

Harry sighed again, scrubbing at his eyes before putting quill to parchment again. It wouldn’t do to stare at Draco _this_ much, he’d never get any work done.

 _Transfiguration getting you down?_ Draco grinned at Harry.

 _Always._ Harry rolled his eyes.

They often talked through the bond now, regardless of whether or not they were in public. Harry found it helped with his occlumency - when he talked through the bond, he checked his mental walls barring his emotions. They were made up of dense, green hedges - similar to the trees - and the shadows reared up against them, but didn’t go past.

Finally finishing the transfiguration essay, he rolled it up and shoved it into his bag, before pulling out a fresh piece of parchment. _Have you done the charms?_

 _Do we have to?_ Draco whined into Harry’s head, leaning back on his chair and staring up on the ceiling as he did so.

_Not sure - we probably should just in case._

Draco pulled a face. _I’m going to finish my arithmancy first._

 _You do that._ Harry groaned, pulling his gaze from Draco to the desk in front of him - there was nothing worse than staring at a blank parchment, waiting for the first sentence to be written.

~

Draco found that, looking across to the other side of the bond, Harry had somehow figured out occlumency over the course of the day. Draco had looked when he’d felt _something_ disappear from the back of his mind - Harry hadn’t disappeared, of course, just closed off his mind a bit. Draco could see a hedge, the same green as Harry’s eyes, surrounding the shadows, keeping them in check. Draco’s heart broke a little as he imagined having to deal with those at all times.

However, Harry wasn’t brilliant at keeping his emotions in. At mealtimes, he occasionally sent through a spark of panic, making Draco jump, before inserting himself smoothly into whatever conversation Harry was having, stopping him from having to answer whatever he had to do. Draco didn’t mind; he was very well trained for this sort of thing from the rigorous pure blood training his parents had put him through, and the Gryffindor table was hardly difficult to navigate. And it was made even easier to bear by Luna, with her odd insertions with perfect timing and non-Gryffindor robes.

Surprisingly, the Gryffindors had easily welcomed Draco into their ranks, likely following Harry’s lead. The most trouble he’d had was when the Scottish one - Seamus? - had thought Draco was on his way to stealing his boyfriend. He’d been obviously relieved when Harry had kept stealing food from his plate.

A grin broke across Draco’s face whenever he thought of that - not only that Harry felt comfortable enough with him to even consider stealing his food, but that he was eating that little more than usual.

The next two days progressed similarly to that day. Harry’s occlumency got better, meaning Draco rarely felt any emotion from him, and had reduced himself to regularly checking on Harry. The shadows didn’t get any better, but they didn’t get any worse either. Considering the new situation, Draco had decided to count this as a win.

Harry was feeling a lot better. He spent almost every hour of every day with Draco, the blonde knowing seemingly instinctively when Harry needed him to step into a conversation, and when Harry could carry it by himself. Harry knew it wasn’t from him sending emotions down the bond - Draco had asked about the occlumency after a day of feeling nothing from Harry, who had confirmed that he’d been working on it and was proud that it was working well.

During the night, the nightmares seemed to be better as well - they spoke to each other through the bond, knowing that the other was there, which made the entire situation not enjoyable, exactly, but a lot better. Neither of them got an unbroken night’s sleep, but they often fell asleep draped over each other after waking up from the nightmare. Neither of them discussed this, in fear of forcing their own feelings upon the other. 

Overall, they thought they had a pretty good arrangement. Draco, because he got to spend ridiculous amounts of time with his crush, practically in a relationship. Harry because _he_ got to spend time with _his_ crush, and didn’t worry about being around his Gryffindor friends any more because Draco was there to effectively save him from the horror of social interaction. Harry was even beginning to think that he might comfortably survive his eighth year. 

The only thing bugging him was that little voice in the back of his head that said _don’t get complacent._ It sounded oddly like Snape’s voice, which Harry decided to ignore. That little voice kept him alive during the last year, and while there wasn’t a need for it, Harry found himself suddenly on edge at the weirdest of times - while they were sitting in the common room, in the middle of an impromptu test from McGonagall. Normally, Draco was on hand to ‘casually’ rest his hand on Harry’s shoulder or knee. These casual, public touches meant that most of the student body was convinced that the pair were secretly dating. The people who didn’t think so were Ginny, who was in denial about Harry being gay, mainly due to him not coming out or explicitly breaking up with her - Ron, who still secretly harboured hostile feelings towards the Malfoy heir - Terry Boot, who wanted Harry for himself - and Zacharias Smith, who was oblivious to anything that didn’t explicitly involve him. There were also various bets in the teaching body about how long it would take for the pair to come out, with McGonagall betting by Easter, Hagrid betting by the end of the year, and Flitwick who said by the end of November, to name a few. 

Harry knew it was bad to rely on Draco so heavily - but while he was getting better, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

That Friday night, the situation was indeed revealed to be too good to be true, to mini-Snape-in-Harry’s-head’s satisfaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the rating to mature because if what I’ve written in chapter 9 :)


	7. The Dursley’s (I’m sorry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right so...this entire chapter is centred around child abuse. I’m sorry. If you don’t want to read the actual graphic abuse, it starts at ‘Harry woke up to complete darkness’ and finished at ‘Draco was finally pulled out of the dream as Harry lost consciousness.’ I’ve put sentences in bold.
> 
> A brief summary of the dream will be at the end.

Harry hung off the side of his bed, searching underneath for a pyjama top. Every night, the one he was wearing the night before had disappeared, and he’d gone from five overly large t-shirts filled with holes to no overly large t-shirts filled with holes.

“What are you doing, Harry?” As Harry turned over, a pair of bare, pale feet appeared on the floor (ceiling? Harry was still upside down). 

“The elves have been nicking my pyjama shirts,” Harry whined.

“They’ve likely been throwing them away, those things are hideous. Just sleep shirtless.”

“I can’t.” Harry rolled his eyes, sitting up as the blood started rushing to his head.

“Why not?”

 _Because I can’t let you see me shirtless_ Harry thought, ignoring the _other_ reason entirely. “Irrational thing, I guess.”

“Well wear this then.” Draco walked off, and Harry sat on his bed, eyes following him curiously as he crouched down next to his bed, seeker reflexes catching a green shirt hurled at him over Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s green.”

“It’s a shirt. Put it on.”

Harry rolled his eyes again, running his fingers across the material. _Likely silk._

“Fine.” Harry grabbed the shirt and his pyjama bottoms, walking into the bathroom and locking the door behind him before using the toilet, pulling on the pyjamas and brushing his teeth. Harry marvelled at how soft the fabric was against his skin, determinedly ignoring that this was _Draco’s_ shirt he was putting on. 

Harry trudged out, his school uniform draped over one arm, Draco already in bed. He raised an eyebrow at Harry as he got into bed.

“Thanks for the shirt.” Harry mumbled.

“You’re welcome.” Draco’s raised eyebrow dropped as he pulled out a book.

Harry yawned, as it was past midnight, and fell asleep, vaguely aware that the shirt was so soft it felt like he wasn’t wearing a shirt anyway.

~

**Harry woke up to complete darkness.**

He opened his eyes wider, accustomed to a bit of light filtering through the drapes, reaching out an arm towards his wand, when his hand hit a wall far sooner than it should have. 

Harry turned onto his back, and cried out in pain as a wound, or many wounds, split open from the movement. Harry sat up, whimpering at the pain, feeling blood trickle down his back, arms flying out in every direction.

 _Nononononono_ Harry thought. He couldn’t be back here, he’d escaped. 

But no, his bed was hard and lumpy, the walls were much closer to him, and Harry scrambled backwards until his back hit the wall as the many locks on his cupboard door opened.

A shaft of light blinded Harry, who didn’t have glassed, but was rather just dressed in an oversized pair of boxers. As he blinked, he started to make out the large, red face of Vernon Dursley.

“Had enough time in there, I’d expect. Come on, time to make breakfast.” Vernon pulled Harry’s arm, ignoring the gasp from the five-year-old as it pulled open more of the wounds from the belting the night before. “Eggs, bacon and toast, boy. And don’t burn the bacon, it’s Dudley’s birthday!”

Harry sighed inwardly, stiffly making his way over to the fridge to get his ingredients. He cracked the eggs over the hob, burning his hands and wrists as he was too short to reach the pan properly. He put the bread in the toaster, making eight slices with a sliver of hope that maybe, maybe he’d get some.

He kept running back and forth between the toaster and the bacon, trying his best to make sure it didn’t burn. It wasn’t cooked, not yet, just a little longer - until there was smoke everywhere, a blackened mess in the pan. Harry couldn’t understand how it could have happened - he’d been so careful, watching the bacon within thirty-second intervals, but it was burned, and there was no way to fix it, and Vernon was shouting, and Petunia was screaming, and Dudley was fake-crying while smiling maliciously whenever his parent’s backs were turned…

And then Harry was on his knees in the unforgiving ground outside, because “nasty little freaks don’t deserve to kneel in the grass”, biting through his lip even after he tasted blood as Vernon’s belt landed again, and again, and again…

Harry prayed for someone, anyone, to come help him - a nosy neighbour looking over the fence, a sudden visitor - but no one came, no one ever did, it was just him and Vernon and pain…

Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of blonde hair, out of the corner of his eye, and a flicker of hope lit in his chest. He turned his head - maybe they were just out of his line of vision, maybe if Vernon saw them he would stop.

But no one was there, and all Harry got for his efforts was a hand across the face, and he lay there on the pavement, defeated, bleeding, and alone.

~

Draco found himself pulled to an unfamiliar, but unremarkable driveway, when he fell asleep. He was a ghost, of sorts - he could walk, but his hand passed through the door when he tried to open it. The door led into an equally unremarkable hallway, with decorated but still plain wallpaper and many photos dedicated to a pink...lump. It was a child, but a very ugly, overweight one. Impressed with the detail in this dream, Draco decided it must be a memory of sorts - a lot like the pensieve, which explained why he couldn’t influence anything. 

Draco looked down the bond, to see how Harry was doing, but saw...nothing. He couldn’t see Harry’s occlumency shields, or anything but darkness. It was similar to what he’d seen in charms - unnervingly, he couldn’t feel _any_ emotion.

Draco wandered over to the photos. There was no evidence of Harry living here - a terrible sleepover, perhaps? 

Draco’s head abruptly snapped to the left as heavy footsteps sounded down the steps, followed by panic surging down the bond. Draco’s instincts told him to follow the fat, pink man who had just come down the stairs - likely muggle, based on the clothing, with no chin and a barely-there moustache. As Draco watched, the fat man unlocked multiple locks on the cupboard under the stairs. Intrigued, Draco drew closer to see inside - what could possibly require this much protection? A weapon? Jewels?

Draco’s curiosity quickly turned to horror, however, as the door swung open to reveal an emaciated child, wearing only grey boxers that were a few sizes too big, curled up against the wall, sitting on a bloody cot. Draco shuddered to think just how exactly it got that bloody.

The fat man grabbed the skinny boy’s arm, revealing familiar black hair and bright green, terrified eyes. Draco took a step back, an uncomfortable twisting in his gut. _This_ was where Harry lived before coming to the wizarding world?

Draco shook himself out of his shock, glaring at the huge back of the fat man. He was dragging Harry by his hand, opening wounds - from _whippings_ \- across his back. Harry dutifully started making dinner, burning his hands and wrists a few times. Draco grabbed his wand, ready to heal them, before realising that he couldn’t do anything but watch. He stood next to a large metal box, which Harry had produced food from, watching Harry frantically sprint back and forth between another metal box which he put bread in and the pans on the hob. As Draco watched, the panic calmed, settling into something more along the lines of dread - as if he knew how this was going to play out.

Sure enough, the pan suddenly started spewing smoke everything, causing the two adults - fat man and horse-faced woman - to come over, yelling at Harry. Draco shook with anger - Harry was tiny, and while he was short now, here he couldn’t have been older than three or four. And now he was shaking in terror, still only wearing those horrid boxers, and there was a smaller duplicate of the fat man - his child - pulling faces at Harry while pretend sobbing about something whenever his mother turned around. Draco shook with anger at the scene - Harry was so young, he shouldn’t be cooking.

Then, they stopped shouting and Draco’s stomach dropped with dread - he was almost sure what was going to happen, his fears confirmed when the fat man dragged Harry over to a bloodstained corner of the otherwise immaculate garden. Harry dropped to his knees in anticipation of what was going to come - and indeed, the fat man was unbuckling his belt. Draco backed away, further into Harry’s vision - he didn’t want to see Harry’s back cut open. He wasn’t squeamish, as such - he thought he might become a healer later in school - but the purposeful harm of a young child was more than he could stomach.

Tears leaked out of Harry’s eyes, and Draco’s heart broke - there was no pain coming through the bond, likely because this was a dream, but the pure hopelessness that Harry was feeling was bad enough. He hadn’t reached towards Draco once - and didn’t react when Draco talked down the bond. It was likely blocked for him.

A flicker of hope went through the bond, as Harry made eye contact with Draco - and Draco shouted, screamed Harry’s name, hoping he could hear - but the green eyes just moved away, and after one final lash he collapsed, his back bleeding out onto the pavement.

“Freak.” The fat man spat at Harry, sliding the belt through the loops on his trousers without even cleaning it. He went back into the house with a smile on his face, saying something - Draco couldn’t hear - and the family happily left, leaving Harry on the floor. His eyes were glassy, staring at nothing, his back bled freely and a feeling of hopelessness engulfed Draco, as he tried one more time to go to Harry, to comfort him, _something._

**Draco was finally pulled out of the dream as Harry lost consciousness.**

~ 

Draco jumped out of bed, taking one step across the room to Harry’s bed.

He tentatively pulled back the drapes, worried about what he’d find behind. Harry was curled up, hands clenched in the duvet as if he’d forgotten to remove them after the dream. Draco was quite sure there would be little crescent-shapes indentations in Harry’s palms from his nails as well. He had his back to Draco, and flinched heavily as Draco gently touched his shoulder.

“Harry?” Draco whispered, terrified that a loud noise would make this worse.

“You weren’t there.” Harry was shivering underneath Draco’s hand.

“I was...but I couldn’t reach you. I’ll always be there.” A tear rolled down Draco’s face - he’d known Harry couldn’t see or hear him, but that small, broken voice, was one he’d hoped never to hear again. He hadn’t truly expected to never hear it again, but it hit him hard nevertheless.

“I couldn’t...there was no way out. Even back then, there was no way out. I tried running away once, when I was six - I got down the street before something literally controlled my body and took it back.” Harry was still shaking, and Draco didn’t know what to do - never, after a nightmare, had Harry not sat up. Draco remained silent, but sat down on the side of the bed. Harry didn’t say anything, but didn’t calm down either, so Draco slid under the covers, awkwardly folding one arm in front of him and draping the other over Harry, who shuffled backwards, uncurling slightly. Holding his breath, Draco slid his other arm under Harry, pulling the other boy flush against his chest. Harry let loose a sob, that had likely been building up for a while, the tension leaving his body as he continued shaking.

Draco held on tight to Harry, not letting go as he fell asleep again with his face buried in Harry’s hair.

~

Harry, while at Hogwarts, had suppressed any and all thoughts of the Dursleys. He never let anyone see him shirtless, and hadn’t been particularly fond of Ron pinching food from his plate in first year, but overall he had been quite sure that no one at Hogwarts knew about his situation.

Looking back, he was very sure Dumbledore had known - why else would he have put up wards to stop Harry from running away? - and Snape probably found out during those occlumency lessons, if he hadn’t guessed from what he knew about Petunia’s situation before then, but Harry had made sure that no one else knew. Harry had had no intention of making other people worry.

Now, he didn’t know what to think about Draco knowing. He knew why the nightmare had suddenly occurred - other than when he was at primary school, the Dursley’s didn’t feel the need to give him clothes other than some boxers, resulting in many cold nights under the stairs. That’s why now, he always had to wear a full set of pajamas - or at least joggers and a t-shirt. Wearing Draco’s shirt yesterday, it had been so soft it felt like he wasn’t wearing a shirt - hence the flashback to the Dursley’s.

Now, though, he couldn’t feel further from the Dursley’s. He was wrapped up in Draco’s arms, his breath tickling the nape of Harry’s neck. He didn’t feel comforted, exactly - more safe, if still on edge. Like being in the tent behind Hermione’s various wards last year.

Harry didn’t sleep, just listened to Draco’s rhythmic breathing and stared at the wall with glassy eyes. When Draco woke up, gently tugging his arm out from underneath Harry, he didn’t move, not to sit up nor to cling to Draco like he wanted. He lay, staring at the wall, not really listening to what Draco said. He didn’t feel anything, except that he wasn’t leaving his bed. He didn’t want to go outside, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, he didn’t want to eat.

Draco asked him if he was getting up, after changing (Harry assumed - he still hadn’t turned over), and Harry just grunted, not moving.

After being sure that Draco had left, he moved to relieve himself, before climbing back into bed and closing the drapes.

He put a few charms and wards up, to keep Draco out. He didn’t want to have any conversations with him about what happened with the Dursley’s - he wouldn’t understand, he’d just pity Harry, who just couldn’t deal with the pained facial expressions, the softly spoken words and sad eyes. 

He pulled the covers up to his chin, staring blankly at the wall. Maybe Vernon was right - it was Saturday, he should be outside, with his friends, having a great time, but instead he was just lying in bed. 

Maybe he was a freak after all.

~

Draco fidgeted all the way through breakfast. He’d gone down relatively early, so there was barely anyone at the tables. He didn’t eat much - a slice of toast and a cup of tea. He’d checked Harry’s mind repeatedly - the shadows were higher, held by an invisible barrier. The usual hedges were nowhere to be seen, but the darkness was clearly contained. Draco tried, once, to go and see what was happening, but he simply pinged off the barrier. He tried talking to Harry, and just got an echo of what he’d said - as if the words had reflected off the barrier as well.

Draco steadily got more stressed with the lack of _anything_ from the other end of the bond, eventually sprinting back up to the dorms with the need to check on Harry. He walked into their completely silent room and was greeted by closed drapes, which, to Draco’s dismay, were spelled against him. They’s been spelled so they were hard and couldn’t be moved aside, the wards impossible for Draco to unravel. After half an hour of pleading down the bond (which he was quite sure Harry didn’t hear anyway), literal yelling and attempting to unravel the spells surrounding the bed, Draco left the croissants he’d snatched from the hall before settling at the desk and reading. At least he’d know if Harry ate.

However, Harry didn’t so much as move from the bed for the majority of the day. Draco finished all of his homework and an entire book, and Harry didn’t so much as move. 

Sighing loudly, Draco went down to dinner. If Harry was so determined to not talk to him, he could at least go to the toilet. Draco set up charms to tell him if Harry left his bed, and went down to dinner quite early. 

About five minutes after he’d left the charms had been triggered - if anything, Draco hoped that Harry had taken one of the croissants he’d left out under a heating charm. It had taken all of his self control not to jump up with excitement and go back there and then - knowing Harry, if he was ambushed he literally wouldn’t come out again. Draco pushed the food on his plate around for ten minutes before he gave into his impulses and ran back up to the room.

Harry had got back into bed, but at least he’d taken one of the croissants. Draco smiled and vanished all but two, one of which he ate (due to barely eating the entire day from worry) and one of which he left on the plate alongside the food he’d brought up from dinner. He checked the bond again, asking Harry _will you talk to me now?_

There was no echo, meaning Harry at least got the message. However, all Draco got for his efforts was silence. Slightly wounded, but not disheartened, Draco said _I brought you some more food._

No answer from behind the curtains. Draco got ready for bed, grabbing another book and settling into bed. He’d have to owl his mother for more books at this rate.

After a couple of hours, Draco said _goodnight_ before occluding, ready for bed.

He didn’t get a reply, and Harry wasn’t present in his dreams that night.

~

Harry genuinely felt bad about not replying to Draco. He didn’t want to hurt Draco, but he just couldn’t bring himself to talk to anyone. Better to keep to himself. Nobody really cared about his issues.

He didn’t really sleep, just lightly dozed. At one point, two in the morning according to his wand, he took some food from the side of his plate - he felt gratitude towards Draco, but really, he couldn’t understand. Better to leave him be.

After eating his fill (one muffin and half of a piece of bread) Harry closed his draped and resumed his vigil of staring at the wall.

~

The next morning, the drapes were closed as per usual. Draco sighed, sent a _good morning_ down the bond before getting dressed for breakfast. Maybe this would eventually wear Harry down.

Breakfast was waffles, so Draco grabbed a couple for Harry before going back upstairs. The Gryffindors eyed him up suspiciously as he left the room in a hurry - maybe they thought Draco had killed Harry? Kidnapped Harry? Locked him in a sex dungeon? Who knew how Gryffindor’s minds worked.

Draco trudged back up to their room, shoulder muscles hurting from tensing with stress for the last twenty-four hours. Harry’s mind was still completely blocked off.

Draco was greeted by closed drapes. He sighed and put the food on the bedside table - Harry had taken a muffin, which was good - vanishing the food from the night before and taking a piece of bread for himself.

Finishing off the bread, he went to the bathroom. The door was a bit jammed, so Draco threw his shoulder against it, a bit suspicious, but it easily gave way.

Draco jumped in shock. Rather than the bathroom being empty, Harry was standing there, shirtless. Draco realised he hadn’t seen Harry shirtless before this point, and now saw why. Harry was standing with his back to Draco, and his back…

In the dream, it had had a couple of scars, but nothing too bad. Not that any form of child abuse wasn’t terrible, but it was nothing compared to this. 

There were lines upon lines of scar tissue, criss-crossing across Harry’s back, clearly never healed properly. It didn’t quite bulge out, likely due to accidental magic, but looked terrible nevertheless. Against Harry’s naturally caramel colouring, it stood out even more. Draco dragged his gaze up to meet Harry’s eyes in the mirror. They hardened, resembling glittering gemstones as Harry stared into Draco’s grey eyes. His lips thinned and he took on a fighting stance. 

“You could have knocked.” Harry’s voice was dry and scratchy, but strong nevertheless.

“Your drapes were closed. I thought you were in bed. Why would I knock on the door of an empty bathroom?” Draco took a step forward, relishing in the fact that Harry neither backed away nor lowered his gaze, but instead turned to face Draco head on.

His front was littered with scars, not as many as his back but still more than an eighteen-year-old should have. Over his heart, there was a second, white, lightning-bolt scar. Draco took another step forward, so he was a foot away from Harry.

Harry sighed, saying “you can ask questions if you want. I’m in a...better headspace.”

“Better doesn’t mean good,” Draco said, noting the weariness hidden behind the still challenging posture. “Did you sleep at all last night?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well come out and have some food, at least.” Draco took a step away, towards the door which had swung shut behind him.

“I was going to have a shower.”

“Come and have some food afterwards, then.”

“Okay.” Harry smiled - a soft, cautious thing, but a smile nonetheless. Draco smiled back - a broad smile, one that he hoped conveyed his relief that Harry was willing to talk to him, and out of bed.

Harry spent a remarkably long time in the shower, but eventually emerged, grabbing the food and sitting on Draco’s bed, to his surprise. “Sorry for not talking the last couple of days.”

“It’s fine. You needed time.”

“It’s just...I’ve always suppressed those memories as much as possible while at Hogwarts. Suppressing them...it allows me to live life freely. But I think now, I’m just suppressing too much. It doesn’t...they won’t stay down.”

Draco laid a hand on Harry’s arm, stroking it with his thumb. “Not every day has to be a good day. What matters is that we get to the next day, whether it be good or bad.”

“Sometimes...sometimes I don’t want to. I wouldn’t commit suicide or anything,” he added, feeling Draco tense beside him, “but sometimes I wonder…

“When I died, in the forest, I saw Dumbledore. I don’t know whether it was the afterlife or a figment of my imagination, but I got the option to...to not come back. Sometimes I think maybe I should have taken it.”

“Well, I’m glad you came back. As are Ron, and Hermione, and the rest of the wizarding world. Just remember that, and never think otherwise.” Harry smiled up at Draco, before turning and leaning into his side, eating some bread. Draco took some too, and eventually the pair ended up asleep like that, legs tangled together. 

The nightmares were that little bit easier to cope with that night. One might even say they weren’t even nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Harry gets woken up by Vernon Dursley, pretty much a similar drill to the start of the Philisopher’s Stone (Harry is forced to make them breakfast). Because he’s so small, he burns his hand and wrists on the hob, and despite rushing around and trying to make everything perfect it burns anyway. The scene ends with him being whipped by Vernon, being spat on and called a freak. During this, he thinks he sees Draco, but dismisses it as his imagination. The scene is also described from Draco’s POV, who was actually there but viewing it similarly to a pensive memory in that people in the memory couldn’t see him and he couldn’t manipulate the situation in any way.
> 
> Also, I’ve almost finished writing - just got to write 11, which I hope to finish either tonight or tomorrow night. Because its pretty much finished, I’m going to post all the next chapters every other day instead of every 3 days :) I’m not going to start writing my next fic until all these are posted, but I still want to write, so please could you send prompts to my instagram/tumblr at Huffinglepuff? 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this far <3


	8. Duelling

Harry thought he had been rather unreasonable, and Draco surprisingly accommodating to him.

He hadn’t planned for Draco to see his scars, but it hadn’t been as bad as expected. Draco hadn’t expected anything from him - even when Harry had offered, he hadn’t asked anything.

At lessons that Monday, Harry had been surprised to not be approached by anyone, other than a couple of knowing smiles as they looked at him and Draco. Harry hadn’t been to breakfast, instead having a panic attack and then some bread Draco brought up. Really, his diet had been reduced exclusively to carbohydrates, which perhaps wasn’t ideal, but he _was_ putting on a bit of weight.

Harry had sent down the bond _I’m glad they aren’t harassing me,_ fishing for information about what everyone thought.

_They haven’t said anything to me either, even though everyone knows we’re roommates. I’d assume they have their own theories. As long as they’re not harassing us._

_Fair enough,_ Harry shrugged at Draco.

_We should probably stop making random actions at each other while having mind bond conversations, we’re getting some weird looks._

Harry huffed and rolled his eyes, looking sideways at his classmates. Indeed, a few of them were staring at him with narrowed eyes, the most worrying of which being Hermione.

However, for the while, Harry needn’t have worried - no one really talked to him. He wasn’t particularly worried until Professor MacDougal excitedly clapped his hands together, announcing they were doing duelling.

 _Get me out of this!_ Harry turned to Draco, pouting.

_Why? You love practical lessons._

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s confused expression. _Please don’t make me spell it out._

Draco’s eyes widened with realisation, his lips thinning before looking around. Everyone was getting out of their seats and levitating the desks to the side. Harry and Draco followed suit, glad that they had a corner seat as they could watch everyone else.

 _I don’t know how to get you out of this without telling the professor what’s wrong._ Draco grimaced with sympathy at Harry.

_It’ll be fine. It probably won’t be too bad anyway - we’re in a classroom and there are no giants or spiders or anything._

_I do think optimism is your best defence here._

Harry smiled weakly at Draco, before turning to the professor. 

“Of course, you have already many notes on the theory of duelling, but no harmful curses please, but pair up and go ahead!” 

Harry stood with his back to the wall, in a vaguely offensive duelling stance - wand out, arm extended, other arm not really doing anything at all. He flinched as he saw bright colours out of the corner of his eye. He was not on the school courtyard, he was not duelling death eaters, it’s just Draco and his friends in a classroom.

_Harry, are you alright?_

Harry took three deep breaths while counting to ten. As he watched, no stray hexes came near him - no one so much as looked at him. In his mind, he retreated to the edge of his mind, where the bond left, bathing in the warm emotions Draco radiated, not particularly registering them but just revelling in the fact that they were _there._

_I’m fine._

_If you’re sure…_

Harry smirked, bringing up those feelings of competitiveness he’d lost - or abandoned - in sixth year. “Scared, Malfoy?”

Draco grinned in delight, his eyes glinting. “You wish.”

The pair duelled, hexes being shot back and forth, none of them landing. Harry laughed - a proper laugh, one brought on by pure exhilaration - this was nothing like the battle, like the war - this was a dance, fuelled by competitiveness and something more. 

Harry didn’t know how long they were duelling before, but eventually he ended up sending _timeout?_ down the bond and bent over at Draco’s nod, sweating and panting, resting his hands on his knees. That was, until he heard a delighted clapping to his right.

He stood up and looked, to see the whole class staring at him in awe, his Professor clapping his hands together. “Brilliant! Splendid! Marvellous!”

“Mate, since when can you actually duel?” Ron asked.

“To be fair, he ran the DA” Seamus replied. Harry just shrugged. He’d never really been able to duel like that - maybe it was the bond?

“Draco was damn good too,” Dean said. Draco’s eyebrows rose in surprise, climbing further still when the rest of the class murmured in agreement.

“Well, class, that’s the end of the lesson! Put the classroom back to it’s usual state, and twelve inches on what you could improve about your duelling technique...except you two.” He pointed two fingers at Harry and Draco. “Could you do a demonstration for my sixth and seventh years?”

Harry turned to look at Draco, who shrugged in turn. They didn’t even need words to communicate at this point.

“When do you need us, Professor?”

~

Despite the advancement in the defence lesson, Harry still refused to go to the dorm, or anywhere, without Draco. It was the best time Draco had had in months.

They always sat together at the back of the classroom, talking through their bond and not really drawing attention to themselves. Draco was doing one more NEWT than Harry (he wasn’t doing runes at all, it turned out, just very complex arithmancy), so Harry generally spent that time in their room, harassing Draco through the bond with questions his homework or whining _I’m bored,_ to which Draco would often reply with affectionate replies such as _fuck off_ or _stupid git_.

At meals, having gotten bored of their room (or rather, Draco had gotten fed up of lugging heavy baskets up six flights of stairs) they often went out onto the grounds, at the side of the lake or a healthy distance from the whomping willow. A couple of times they went to the courtyard, but there were an unusually large number of students present there. It wasn’t a huge issue, as the pair were generally enjoying the unusually warm September weather, often dozing under the sun while lying on the lush grass. Draco often complained about crumpled robes or grass stains, but Harry saw the grins he tried to hide.

All this resulted in several rumours going around the school, the main one being that Draco had drugged Harry with a love potion. However, since Harry wasn’t exhibiting any symptoms that he was under the influence of a love potion (glazed eyes, obsession (or more so), or memory loss), this theory was quickly put to bed, and the student (and staff) body collectively decided that they were dating and just not ready to come out. Therefore, everyone left Draco and Harry alone, which they were quite happy about.

This continued for another week. Harry’s schoolwork improved significantly, to the delight of teachers, mostly due to Harry being able to ask Draco questions through the bond.

At night, the pair still slept in separate beds (to both of their dismay) and ended up cuddling after whatever nightmare they forced themselves through. Both of them had worked out that sleeping in the same bed pretty much got rid of their nightmares, but neither brought it up in fear that the other would do...something. Harry was scared Draco would out him to the press (despite the small part of his mind adamantly screaming that Draco would never do that), and Draco thought that Harry would immediately get a room change as soon as he found out that a _death eater_ had a crush on him.

This left the pair in a rather precarious friendship, flirting and acting rather domestic while both simultaneously denying that they were picking up any hints from the other. 

As September turned to October and the leaves started turning crisp and orange, the pair often huddled together under trees, watching leaves dance around them, casting warming charms. Harry loved watching Draco melt under the magic, and Draco loved the feeling of Harry’s magic on him - it was like a warm hug, settling comfortable around him without a sound, bringing with it a faint aroma of freshly cut grass and leather. Draco had never registered smelled anything like that while with Harry, but knew instinctively that that was his true scent.

However, the first weekend of October, Harry had another nightmare which affected him as badly as the one with the Dursley’s. 

He’d been in Hogsmeade with his friends - and Draco, who’d been integrated as if he’d been part of their group all along. Then the death eaters had shown up - and Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco had all been sprinting through the forest. They’d been tied up and thrown in the basement, but this time it had just been the four of them.

After an agonising wait, Harry and Draco had been dragged out, while Hermione and Ron were left alone. Draco was untied, and his eye had taken on a malicious glint. Harry’s head had been roughly pulled back by his hair, exposing his face for the death eaters to see. This time, he hadn’t had a stinging hex distorting his face, but Draco had been brought forward all the same. He wasn’t terrified, as Harry would have expected - rather, Harry saw nothing but cold calculation in those grey eyes.

 _Tell them._ Harry knew instinctively that the message hadn’t gone through.

However, as Bellatrix asked Draco “Is it Potter? Is it?” Draco didn’t say “I can’t be sure.” He said “yes.”

Harry’s heart had dropped into his stomach. He’d told Draco to tell them, sure, but Draco hadn’t got the message...and he’d told them anyway. Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, and let his head fall as Bellatrix cackled triumphantly and let go of his hair.

He felt intense pain shoot through his scar as Bellatrix pressed down on the mark, before a wave of joy from Voldemort shot through him. He didn’t have time to consider the implications before Bellatrix screeched _”Crucio!”_ and Harry felt hot needles piercing his skin all over, the pain inching deeper and deeper…

The pain abruptly stopped, and Harry uncurled from the floor, his throat sore. Had he screamed? But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, as he looked up into Draco’s grey eyes.

This wasn’t Draco, however; this was Malfoy. His eyes glittered with malice as Bellatrix said “go ahead,” sounding positively bored.

_Crucio._

This pain - this pain was a thousand times worse than whatever Bellatrix could conjure. Because this pain - the physical pain was nothing, compared to the coldness and apathy in those eyes, the heartbreak that actually made his chest hurt with the pain of it. He barely registered the _crucio_ stopping, his mind whirling with the betrayal of his soulmate.

Eventually, after he’d been passed around for _crucio_ practice, Voldemort arrived. Red eyes met green.

“You look like you’re already dead.” Voldemort smiled - a thin, terrifying thing. Harry’s expression didn’t change.

“Well, I suppose this won’t be much of a change.” Voldemort twirled his wand between his fingers, before grasping it properly and snarling _”avada kedavra.”_

~

Draco once again woke up having been blocked out of Harry’s mind. This time he hadn’t even been able to see the nightmare - he’d just been blocked, no matter how much he shouted and pleaded and hammered with metaphorical fists.

After what seemed like an age Harry had woken up, Draco only knowing as the shadows of Harry’s mind were reeled in as they usually did when he was awake. Those shadows still terrified him - but for Harry’s sake. He knew they would never hurt him, but he wanted nothing more for them to disappear. On better days, they seemed less opaque, but now they were a void, absorbing all light (if it could be called that - their minds were on another level of reality, after all). 

Draco had walked over to Harry’s bed, drawing open the curtains, and his eyes met terrified, green eyes.

“Harry…” Draco reached out as if to caress Harry’s cheek, but Harry flinched backwards, into the wall. Draco stopped his movement, his hand dropping out his side.

“Harry?” Draco tried to keep how hurt he was inside, to not portray any emotions on his face.

“I just...it was a bad one. Can you leave me alone?” Harry said, not looking at Draco at all.

“Okay.” Draco drew the drapes around Harry’s bed, his chest aching at the look in Harry’s eyes. He sighed and shook his head - Harry needed space, so space Harry would get.

He got dressed, having anxiously sat at his desk for the last hour as Harry was sleeping. He’d found out from experience that waking Harry up halfway through was good for neither of them.

He headed down to breakfast early, deliberately sipping at his tea and picking at eggs and bacon. He must have spent half an hour, lost in his thoughts and wallowing in self pity. He eventually dragged himself up from his grief, stuffing four croissants in his pocket before going back up to the dorm. 

As he did before, he left the food next to Harry’s bed. But as the weekend progressed, Harry didn’t eat any of the food Draco gave him. He rejected Draco every time he tried to talk to him, slowly chipping away at his sanity.

On Monday, he didn’t even go to lessons. Draco said Harry was feeling a bit “under the weather” - this wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth. He detested all the sympathetic glances thrown his way. By this point, Draco was biting at his fingernails - a nervous habit he’d never done before - not in sixth year, not when Voldemort was in his house, not when his father was in Azkaban.

After Harry had again told Draco to go away that evening, Draco took drastic action.

He went to Hermione.

~

Hermione, despite how suspicious she’d been of Harry and Draco these past few weeks, hadn’t been particularly concerned. While in public, the pair had quite clearly been a couple - granted, there hadn’t been any PDA, which would have been the main deal, but Harry had always been a very private person and likely didn’t want anything in the press - they wouldn’t print anything without proof, thanks to a couple of strongly worded letters from herself.

However, she’d been quite shocked when Draco had come strutting across the common room in her general direction. He’d tried his best to come across as calm, but he had nervous ticks everywhere. 

“Gr-Hermione. Can I talk to you?” His gaze flickered back and forth between herself and Ron, who’s arm had tensed around her shoulder. 

She removed his arm, standing up. “Of course.” She shot a glare in Ron’s direction, who had his mouth open, ready to object. He obediently closed his mouth, so she shot an apologetic smile before striding into the only space in the common room, near the door to go to the dorms.

“Why did you want to talk to me?” She purposely kept her face neutral, watching Draco’s eyes nervously dart back and forth, his hand rise to reveal badly bitten nails before falling again as he caught himself.

“Harry...he’s been having nightmares. I’d have told you at the beginning of the year, but he didn’t want me to,” Hermione’s stomach dropped. Harry was suffering? Here she’d been thinking his nightmares had passed at some point in the summer, but now Draco was saying the opposite. Likely seeing the fury in Hermione’s eyes, Draco hurriedly added “complete bullshit, but he might have killed me. Anyway, I’ve mostly been able to calm him down, but now he’s had a really bad one and he’s not eating, he won’t let me near him, nothing. I’m hoping he’ll let you near him, if you’ll go?” Draco grimaced, as if he expected her to say no.

“What room is he in.” Hermione was grinding her teeth as Draco led her down the corridor and gestured to a door. She took a deep breath, purposefully relaxing her face. She hissed to Draco “wait outside,” stepping in before he could reply and shutting the door in his face. 

The room was quite similar to her own - two beds, mahogany furniture, grey fabrics. The drapes around one bed were closed - Harry.

She took another deep breath, before checking for wards around the bed. There were a couple of basic ones, likely to tell Draco that he didn’t want him there. She easily dismantled them with a wave of her wand, before sweeping the drapes back, dispelling the smell (he clearly hadn’t moved much for three days) and gently said “Harry?”

“Hermione?” He screwed his face up as he turned over, and Hermione grimaced. He had dark shadows under his eyes, his cheeks were slightly hollow (expected since he hadn’t eaten in a while) and his hair was limp.

“What are you doing to yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t want to worry you,” he muttered, his voice hoarse due to lack of use.

“Harry. You idiot,” she scolded, sitting down next to his bed. “You shouldn’t suffer in silence.”

“I shouldn’t cause worry for other people either.” His jaw clenched in stubbornness, and Hermione smiled at the glimpse of the old Harry she knew and loved.

“Doing this to yourself is going to cause plenty of worry, you know.”

“Not if you didn’t know.”

Hermione sighed - this could go on for hours. “Why have you shut your boyfriend out then?”

Harry raised an eyebrow in badly concealed shock. “Boyfriend?”

“You and Draco aren’t dating?” She chuckled. She should have known not to accept it without proof.

“I wish.” Harry said sulkily.

“Well why aren’t you talking to him?”

“He...the dream…”

“Wasn’t real. This Draco is worried sick.”

Harry sighed. “I know he is, I just...I don’t know if I can deal with it.”

“Harry, you can walk the halls of this castle despite the war.” He flinched at her harsh tone, but this boy needed it - Draco had been spoiling him, clearly. Not that she could blame him. “I think you can deal with seeing Draco after something that _wasn’t real._ ”

“I- fine. Send him in, please.” Harry sat up, finally.

“You have to talk to us more often, okay? Let me and Ron have some meals with you.” Hermione lunged forwards and wrapped her arms tightly around Harry. 

Harry leant into the hug, and said “alright. Bladder, Hermione.”

She chuckled, leaning back. Harry’s face already had more colour, his eyes lit up.

“I’ll send in Draco,” she said, getting up.

She softly shut the door as she exited, saying “I’ve sorted his bullshit out, come to me sooner next time.”

All the tension left Draco in one big motion. “So I can talk to him?”

“Go for it. But next time, come to me sooner.”

She walked back to the common room, a soft smile on her face. She easily slotted herself back into Ron’s side, mind racing as she let the conversation wash over herself. Ron sent her a questioning look, but she nudged him in the side, a simple action that clearly said _later._

~

Draco took three deep breaths before opening the door to their room. He wondered what Hermione had said - but then again, that girl was terrifying. She probably threatened him.

Harry was sitting upright on his bed, and gave Draco a weak smile. Draco gave him a full one in return, taking long strides across the room and practically launching himself onto Harry’s bed.

“Did she talk some sense into you then?” Draco was still smiling.

Harry’s eyes were lit up, and despite not eating for three days he was still looking better than he had until about a week ago. “Yep. I’m not even mad at you for telling her.”

“I wouldn’t feel guilty if you were.” Harry leant into Draco’s side, Draco leaning back to stop himself from falling off the bed. They stayed there in silence for a while, just enjoying each other’s company.

Draco did eventually get up to get Harry a proper meal - he’d eaten a bit of the bread but he needed nutrition. The elves were all too happy to see him, giving him a basket too heavy to carry. He dragged it back up, and the pair ate about half of the food in their room. Harry, surprisingly, ate quite a lot - before, if he hadn’t eaten in a while he wouldn’t eat much, but now Draco was satisfied to see the effect of regular meals on his appetite.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the evening, simply communicating through various facial expressions, eyebrow twitches, sighs and eye rolls. They did eventually go to sleep, have a nightmare, go into the same bed and back to sleep - their old routine - but the atmosphere was tinged with something… _different_.

The next morning, to Draco’s surprise, Harry asked if it was okay for Hermione and Ron to join them for lunch outside. It was a beautiful - the last dregs of September were still in the atmosphere, crisp leaves on the ground, warm sunshine beating down, but a breeze hinted at the winter to come.

The four of them had met at the kitchens, neither Ron nor Hermione questioning the fact that they weren’t eating in the hall, likely at Hermione’s orders. Honestly, Draco was terrified of her.

He and Ron had split the weight of the basket, each carrying one side of the handle. They all went out next to the lake, Hermione transfiguring a handkerchief in her pocket (who carries around handkerchiefs? Really? Draco didn’t do that unless he was wearing a suit with a breast pocket for the love of Merlin) into a picnic blanket big enough to seat all four of them. They spread the food out - sandwiches, pies, sausage rolls, chips, various vegetable sticks hummus (which both Harry and Ron turned their noses up at, but Draco and Hermione forced them both to have some anyway), cakes, and a jug of pumpkin juice that automatically refilled. They talked about everything and nothing - Harry and Ron were talking about quidditch, then lessons, then back to quidditch, while Draco and Hermione were talking about the benefits of using opals in healing potions. Really, Draco had been missing out on years of actual _intelligent_ conversation. It was a real shame that his father had indoctrinated him with such ridiculous views. 

Overall, Draco had rather preferred his private meals with Harry, but this was worth it - not only because Harry was slowly becoming more social, but also because when he was around his friends his eyes gradually gained the light they’d once had, he smiled for freely and those casual touches that Draco lived for increased significantly. Furthermore, the density of the shadows around Harry’s mind decreased, at least while they were conversing.

The closeness of the trio really made Draco miss the rest of the Slytherins - he hadn’t actually owled them, but he resolved to. 

After a while, Harry’s enthusiasm started flagging, despite them being his closest friends - indeed, it had been three hours. Seeing no indication from the couple that they were going to initiate a break, Draco mentioned something about homework which had Hermione jumping to her feet, because “I’m so sorry that we kept you, Ronald also has to do some homework, don’t you Ron…”

Harry and Draco nodded their farewells, gladly accepting when Ron offered to take the basket of leftovers back to the elves and fleeing to their rooms. Harry launched himself onto the far side of his bed, Draco joining him on the other side soon after.

“I love them, but that’s _exhausting_.”

“I’d have to agree - I’ve never been much of a social butterfly, never mind what my father tried to forge me into.”

“I think I’m just going to lie here for a while.”

That’s what they both did, Draco listening to Harry’s breaths slow and even out. Eventually, when he was truly asleep, Draco made to get up, but Harry grumbled and threw his arm over Draco. _He’s asleep. He doesn’t actually want me here,_ Draco thought, gingerly lying back down as Harry snuggled into his side. Now his arm was draped over Draco’s stomach, his face buried in the sleeve of Draco’s jumper. Draco sighed, waving his wand to close the curtains of the window and closing his eyes, since there wasn’t much else to do.

He didn’t intend to fall asleep in Harry’s bed, but he did anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve finally finished writing this, just need to edit the next three chapters :)
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated <3
> 
> I’m going to spend the next week writing headcanons and short fics on tumblr, so if you have any requests please send them :)


	9. It wouldn’t be an eighth year fic without a Hogsmeade scene

Harry opened his eyes to see the room of requirement. There was fire all around him, and he was alone, but as he boarded the broomstick he felt an unusual sense of calm. He’d been here before, he’d done this before. He knew the drill.

Flying around the room, at a rather leisurely given the situation, he looked for that familiar flash of blonde hair. On the second loop, he spotted him - perched precariously on a chair on top of a stack, his posture surprisingly relaxed. “Took you long enough,” he drawled, allowing Harry to swing him onto the back of the broom, his nonchalant tone of voice betrayed by the tenseness of his arms around Harry’s waist. Harry looked for the door, decidedly not concentrating on how Draco was pressed flush against his back, not concentrating on Draco’s breath tickling his ear, not concentrating on the rising temperature. After what seemed like an age, he spotted the little door, spelling it open and tumbling out. 

When Harry and Draco rolled to a stop, Harry was lying on top of Draco, his head on Draco’s chest. He pushed himself up with one side on either side of Draco’s chest, grunting “stop wiggling, you little shit.”

“I wouldn’t have to ‘wiggle’,” Harry could hear the implied quotation marks, “if you had landed properly. You used to play quidditch for fuck’s sake.”

Harry stopped moving, allowing Draco to adjust himself before moving again. _You know that’s probably actual Draco sharing your dream, right?_ a little voice in Harry’s head told him, but he barely heard it as he watched Draco squirm beneath him - his hair was a mess, his cheeks were flushed and it was doing terrible things to Harry’s mind. Finally, Draco was on his back, apparently where he wanted to be since he stopped moving. Harry intended to move, but he was too busy staring into Draco’s eyes, the silver almost swallowed by dark, dilated pupils. Their breath was mingling, as Harry was still supporting himself by his arms. Neither of them moved, not daring to break the moment, but suddenly the tension snapped. Both of them moved as one, towards each other, lips crashing together with the urgency of a couple who don’t know how long they have. Draco’s arms started trailing up Harry’s arms, eventually settling in Harry’s hair, as the kiss deepened, their lips slotting together as if they’d done this a hundred times before.

They finally pulled apart, gasping for breath. Harry suddenly realised what he’d done, and jerked awake with a start. He had apparently fallen asleep on Draco, to his mortification. He hadn’t woken up yet and was drooling onto Harry’s pillow, so Harry stepped over Draco and locked himself in the bathroom, realising with no small amount of embarrassment that he was hard. He swiftly erected a silencing charm and took care of it, finishing in record time, before clearing the mess, removing the charm and flushing the toilet. He took a long time washing his hands, mostly in fear of what would be waiting outside, but Harry needn’t have worried - Draco had apparently woken up and gone back to his own bed. Something in Harry’s heart twisted as he saw that Draco was already asleep, but he knew that was stupid - he was probably weirded out by Harry’s dream.

 _He reciprocated, didn’t he?_ the little voice in Harry’s head said, thankfully no longer sounding like Snape.

 _It was my dream, he was probably forced to,_ Harry told himself, effectively shutting up the annoying little voice.

He climbed back into hid bed and lay on his back, resigning himself to a few hours of staring at the ceiling.

~

Draco woke up in a similar manner to Harry, in that he bolted upright.

He registered the line of light across the room, parallel to the floor - Harry was in the bathroom. Not knowing for how much longer, Draco jumped into his bed, deliberately staring at the wall.

Because he’d just kissed Harry Potter.

No, that wasn’t just a kiss - he’d full-blown _made out_ with Harry Potter.

He heard the door open behind him and closed his eyes, keeping his breathing even, resisting the urge to turn over. To stand up and take those short steps to Harry. To kiss Harry senseless and run his hands through his hair, to see if it was as thick and soft as it had been in the dream.

 _It was a dream_ , Draco told himself, listening to Harry’s footsteps falter for a second before he got into his bed. It was the first time they’d slept in separate beds _after_ a dream in a while - then again, it was the first time they’d fallen asleep in the same bed _before_ a dream.

Draco continued staring at the wall, replaying the scene outside of the room over and over in his head. He determinedly ignored his cock, begging for attention, and thought about how Harry had reacted - he hadn’t moved his hands, likely because he would have fallen on Draco if he had - but his lips had apparently had the same ideas as him. The noises he was making also brought a smile to Draco’s face.

He was quite sure it was a shared dream - why else would Harry have gone to the bathroom? - but clearly Harry was avoiding the topic. He probably regretted it. The thought wiped the smile from Draco’s face altogether.

He continued staring blankly at the wall, thoughts of passionate kisses and rejections swirling through his mind until the sun cast its rays over Draco’s bed.

~

Harry dragged himself out of bed as Draco started shifting around. They made awkward eye contact, apparently having reached a mutual agreement that they weren’t going to discuss the dream from last night. Harry knew Draco clearly didn’t mean it, but it still hurt a little. 

After getting dressed in silence, Harry decided to finally break the silence. He couldn’t deal with all the silent tension in the air. “I can’t believe I promised Hermione that I would actually go down to breakfast. At the Gryffindor table.”

Draco was clearly relieved about the neutral topic. “She’s also making me sit there, so you won’t have to suffer alone.”

“You won’t _suffer_ , you get along great with the Gryffindors.”

“Whatever would my ancestors think of me.”

“They’ll be proud for making connections with the Chosen One, of course.”

Draco chuckled, and Harry felt that maybe, maybe they could be back to normal. But there was no mistaking the new, unwanted tension between them as they walked the familiar route to the common room, where Ron and Hermione were already waiting.

“Why do you two take so long? Come _on_ , I’m _starving_.”

Hermione elbowed him, and he shot a glare at her, immediately cowed by the one she returned. “Let’s go,” she said, sighing.

The four walked down, straight to the Hall. Harry, unthinkingly, pressed closer to Draco as they neared the doors - he didn’t get flashbacks any more, but he also wasn’t sure what to expect. Draco gently pressed a hand on the small of Harry’s back, probably not even thinking about it. But Harry was thinking about it - that hand was burning an imprint through Harry’s clothes, onto his scarred skin, his worldview narrowing to that singular point of contact. Harry continued to walk, all thoughts of the Hall emptying from his mind as he thought of Draco, of those little touches that meant so much to Harry. Harry didn’t realise he didn’t falter as he walked into the Hall until later that afternoon.

Harry braced himself for an interrogation from the rest of the Gryffindors as he sat down, but none of them said a word, rather sending ‘knowing’ nods and smiles his way. Harry smiled weakly in return, not sure what was going on but not wanting to stop it. A couple of people opened and closed their mouths, and each time Harry turned to see either Draco or Hermione staring daggers at them. 

_What’s up with all the weird nods and smiles and shit?_ Harry asked.

Draco sighed into Harry’s mind, his facial expression not changing in the slightest. _They think we’re dating._

The tone of Draco’s voice was quite flat, almost defeated. He clearly didn’t like the idea.

 _As long as they’re not harassing either of us?_ Harry’s mind-voice trailed off at the end, not sure what Draco was going to say. Surely he didn’t want people to think they were dating?

A low chuckle resonated in Harry’s mind, before Draco said _It’s fine by me._ Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, so he went back to his pancakes and bacon.

~

Overall, Draco and Hermione had apparently found that the meal a great success for everyone involved, and started dragging Harry to at least one meal a day, often two. Harry found that he was referring to ‘Draco and Hermione’ an unnerving amount in regards to his friends - the pair had found a person to talk to about academic… _stuff_ , to Ron and Harry’s delight. At first, anyway. As their friendship progressed they often teamed up, to get Ron to do his homework, or get Harry to socialise.

It was doing Harry a great deal of good - he’d gotten used to the hall, at long last, at the start of November (he’d outright refused to do anything on Halloween, but thankfully the pair were quite understanding considering that that was the day his parents had died). He didn’t feel as anxious, talking to people outside of his group, since Draco was always there to help him. He hadn’t gone to the October Hogsmeade weekend, but Hermione and Draco had insisted that they all go down on the November weekend.

Harry woke up on the dreary Saturday morning close to pushing Draco out of the bed. He wasn’t even surprised when they woke up in the same bed anymore.

“Move your skinny arse over,” Draco grumbled, burrowing further under the duvets and elbowing Harry towards the wall.

“Nope, I’m awake now.” Harry got up, pulling the blankets down as he did so and exposing Draco, who looked adorable. Harry held a special place in his heart for how Draco looked in the morning - his hair stuck up at odd angles, his eyes were squinting and the corners of his mouth were downturned as he swore at Harry for getting him up at this ‘ungodly hour’, whether it be half-past six or eleven. Beautiful.

Draco continued grumbling all the way into the bathroom, and was still grumbling when he got out. Harry moved to go into the bathroom, but stopped when he noticed that Draco’s head was tilted slightly, and was watching Harry with unnatural stillness.

“Draco…?”

He grinned - a huge, unrestrained smile that lit up his entire face. “I don’t think you need any glamours today.”

Harry grinned back. “Really?”

“What, you don’t trust me?”

Harry walked past, elbowing Draco as he did so. _Prat._

_Git._

Harry proceeded to get ready with a huge smile on his face, which was quickly wiped off when he saw the weather.

“Draco, Hermione, its chucking it down! Can we not put it off?”

They both crossed their arms, and said “No.” in identical tones. 

“We know umbrella charms, mate, we’ll be fine.” Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder and headed down to breakfast, Harry jogging to keep up while Hermione and Draco walked behind, murmuring about something or the other. Harry didn’t even try to find out what they’re talking about anymore - he knew from experience that generally it would just go straight over his head.

They wolfed down breakfast (or rather, Ron did and then bothered the other three, forcing them to eat faster as well) and went back upstairs to grab money, casting umbrella charms and _impervious_ charms on their shoes before trudging down the muddy track.

After a long time in Honeydukes, the rain had let up so the group spent a while just wandering up and down the track. Around lunchtime, Ron shyly asked Hermione to lunch in Madame Puddifoot’s, who blushed a bright vermillion before accepting. After about five seconds of staring into each other’s eyes they remembered Harry and Draco, who were looking on amusedly.

“We’ll go for a drink in the Three Broomsticks, you two have your date.” Harry grinned as the pair smiled in relief and made a beeline for the little pink cafe.

“The Three Broomsticks? Really?” Harry knew Draco hadn’t been out much into the wizarding world, and had noted his discomfort in Honeydukes.

“We’ll just get a table at the back and I’ll get the drinks.”

Draco sighed. “Fine. But only because it’s cold out here.” 

Harry beamed, toning down his expression as he walked in. Draco slipped away to a quiet booth in the corner, while Harry quickly made his way over to Madame Rosmerta.

“Two butterbeers please,” he said, trying to angle his face away from the majority of the crowd. Thankfully, it was mostly made up of Hogwarts students, who were used to seeing him around the school.

“Coming right up!” Madame Rosmerta winked at him, sliding two foaming glasses to him in record time. He left a few sickles on the counter before hurrying over to Draco, keeping his head down as he passed some adults.

“I forgot how much I disliked crowds,” Harry said, putting up a _muffliato_ and a light _notice-me-not_ charm around their booth.

“They are the worst,” Draco agreed.

They continued with the small talk, going through two butterbeers each before Draco remembered that they were eighteen and could get alcohol.

“Just one fire whiskey each, okay? I don’t want to stumble across McGonagall when I’m drunk.” 

Draco shuddered and nodded his assent. Harry quickly returned with two tumblers, each with two fingers of dark caramel coloured liquid.

Draco sniffed delicately at his, saying “and people drink this for fun?”

“I think they drink this to get drunk, but I’ve paid for it so now we’re drinking it anyway.”

Draco sighed, before raising his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”’ Harry clinked his glass against Draco’s before taking a large sip, and immediately regretted. He swallowed, wincing at the burn, before pulling a face at Draco.

“You’re not supposed to gulp it, you moron. You’re supposed to sip it.” Draco did so, delicately, grimacing at the taste but clearly not as close to spluttering as Harry was.

Harry swirled the liquid around his glass, watching the liquid, before taking a small sip. “It burns the same amount.”

Draco sighed and took a measured sip so they each had the same amount in their glasses, and held it up. “On three?”

Harry picked up his glass, and said _three_ into Draco’s mind, already raising his glass to his lips. They each downed what was left, pulling near identical faces at the burn.

“It does warm you up afterwards, though, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sure what to think of that,” Draco replied, pressing a hand against his abdomen. 

“I’ll go get some butterbeers to get rid of the taste.”

After their third butterbeers, it was near five, meaning the sun was going to set soon. Draco swayed slightly as he stood up, and Harry grabbed his arm, laughing. “You really can’t hold your liquor, can you?”

Draco straightened and looked haughtily down at Harry. “I can,” he said indignantly, taking all of one step before swaying again. 

Harry looped his arm through Draco’s, still laughing. “You’re such a lightweight.”

Draco muttered something under his breath - Harry couldn’t quite hear, but chuckled all the same. “Come on, let's get back to Hogwarts. Sun’s going to set soon anyway.”

“What about Ron and Hermione?”

“They probably already went back, and if they haven’t they’ll be fine. They’re old enough to look after themselves.”

Harry and Draco stepped out of the pub, realising a moment too late that it was hammering it down. “For fuck’s sake, Harry,” Draco muttered, angrily stomping down the lane and evidently forgetting that his arm was still linked with Harry’s, who was dragged along.

“Draco, Draco stop, my legs are not that long,” Harry tugged at Draco’s arm until he was face to face with Harry, looking near identical to a wet kitten, in Harry’s opinion. His hair was plastered to his head, hanging over his eyes, which were a steely grey. The corners of his mouth were turned down, but one twitched, as if he saw a bit of humour in the situation.

Harry smiled softly, gently untangling his arm from Draco’s and smoothing the hair away from his face. Harry stared up into Draco’s eyes, watching as they softened from steel into quicksilver. One of his hands rose to cup Harry’s jaw, gently brushing his cheek as if to try and remove the water.

“Harry…” Draco almost whispered. Harry didn’t notice the water trickling down his face, or his robes steadily getting damper. He watched a drop of water travel from beside Draco’s eyes into the corner of his mouth, which was slightly parted. He dragged his gaze back up to Draco’s eyes, which flickered down to Harry’s lips in return.

Harry looped his arms around Draco’s neck, kissing him fiercely - and it was better, so much better than the dream, because this was real, and Draco was under his hands, soaked to the skin and solid and _real_ \- and Draco was kissing him back, with lips softer and more inviting than Ginny’s ever were, hands first cupping Harry’s face, then clutching his shoulders, then his long, slender fingers were running through Harry’s hair.

Harry didn’t feel like he could get enough of this - of _Draco_ \- but he pulled back, breathing heavily and grinning from ear to ear.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Draco breathed.

“I might have an inkling,” Harry replied, smirking.

“I’m freezing. Can we go back now?” Draco was shivering under Harry’s hands. He cast an umbrella charm over both of them, before casting a drying charm over their clothes. The _impervious_ charm on their shoes had held, thank Merlin. Draco practically purred as he felt the heat wash over him, melting under the magic.

Harry took Draco’s hand and started walking towards the castle, feeling an immense sense of peace - something he hadn’t properly felt in his life. He leaned against Draco, breathing in the scent of citrus radiating off him, a feeling of _home_ curling around him, warming up to his very bones.


	10. Go listen to Too Many People by Palaye Royale because I can’t come up with a chapter title.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH ITS THE PENULTIMATE CHAPTER!!! I’m going to save my extra long note for the end of the next chapter but I’d just like to say I appreciate every single kudos, comment and DM I receive from you all, they mean the world to me ❤️

Draco was floating on a cloud.

He had been a bit tipsy after the Three Broomsticks, but the rain had sobered him up pretty much immediately. He’d been quite grumpy - as anyone would be, being soaked to the bone in a matter of seconds. He’d stormed off to the castle, quite forgetting Harry was still attached to him until he’d registered the tugging at his arm.

The moment that had passed between them had been...electric. He hadn’t meant to whisper “Harry,” but was more than happy with the outcome. Holding hands with Harry, walking back to the castle, carefree with Harry’s soothing magic wrapped around him like a warm blanket, he’d felt on top of the world.

They’d gone back to the dorm, seeing Ron and Hermione in the common room.

“How come you didn’t come fetch us?” Harry asked them, still holding Draco’s hand.

“You two looked like you were enjoying yourself in the bar. Didn’t want to disturb you.” Ron shrugged, and Hermione elbowed him before looking at them sheepishly.

“It’s fine, we had a nice walk in the rain.” Draco smirked, before dragging Harry to their dorm room. He had no intention of getting caught up in a conversation with anyone else when he’d just kissed _Harry Potter_ , his _soulmate_.

Once in their room, they stood around awkwardly for about twenty seconds. After dragging Harry back so eagerly, Draco wasn’t sure what he wanted to do.

 _Can I kiss you again?_ Harry asked, looking at Draco shyly from under his eyelashes.

Draco chuckled slightly. _You don’t have to ask, you know._

Harry took a couple of steps forward, raising a hand to cup Draco’s jaw. He stood there for an agonisingly long time, Draco remaining perfectly still until he couldn’t bear the tension anymore. Their lips crashed together, and Draco groaned - there was nothing better than this.

Draco walked backwards into the room, bringing Harry with him, until his legs hit the side of a bed. Harry kept walking and the pair ended up sprawled on the bed, tangled in each other.

Harry chuckled, gently extracting his arms from beneath Draco and kneeling between his legs. His eyes travelled greedily over Draco, who was sprawled out on the bed proper up on his elbows and decidedly not worrying about how he looked.

“You’re beautiful,” Harry breathed, his green eyes lit up as he leaned down, kissing his way up to Draco’s ear.

“I know,” Draco said, his breath catching as Harry nibbled on his ear. When did he get so good at this?

Harry smiled against Draco’s skin, his face now against Draco’s neck. Draco felt a spike of panic as that smile fell, but quickly calmed as Harry said “I don’t - I don’t want to go any further tonight.”

“That’s fine, love,” Draco replied, shifting up onto the bed and pulling Harry against him. Harry curled into a ball, somehow pressing himself into Draco’s chest even more. Draco wrapped his arms protectively around Harry, burying his face in Harry’s hair. He smiled as he heard a satisfied sigh from Harry.

He had a thought and looked into his mind, across the bond. Harry’s mind, rather than being wreathed in shadow, was quite visible. Dark shadows hung loosely in the air like clouds, but they looked...peaceful. 

Harry’s mind was, in fact, a forest, with a gently winding river leading in. There were no hedges like before - Draco would have to teach Harry to keep his mind guarded at all times.

Shooting a small portion of his mind forward, to the mouth of the river, he saw small lights flickering, illuminating a small building. A cottage. Draco found it fitting for Harry’s personality, despite feeling that Harry deserved more.

Then again, Draco would give Harry the world and everything in it if it made Harry happy.

He wasn’t particularly shocked at the idea, but pulled back into his own mind. Harry smelled of freshly cut grass and leather, on the surface, but underneath there was the faint scent of cinnamon. Draco inhaled it, falling asleep with Harry in his arms.

Neither of them had a single dream that night.

~

Harry woke up feeling rejuvenated, after the best night’s sleep he could remember getting...ever.

He turned to see Draco, who mumbled something obscene and tightened his grip on Harry, who pressed two gentle kisses to each corner of Draco’s mouth. He couldn’t believe how natural this felt - and how long they’d taken to get here. It was the end of November!

The corners of Draco’s mouth rose, but he still refused to open his eyes. Harry fidgeted until he realised that Draco was not planning on letting him go, resigning himself to another hour or so in bed. He tucked his head under Draco’s chin, smelling the scent that was _Draco_ \- the sharp tang of citrus, likely from the soap (it was yellow, but Harry didn’t know what scent due to not using it) masking a softer, floral scent.

“I’m glad you saw reason,” Draco mumbled.

“I saw a stubborn prat.”

Harry heard Draco chuckle, his chest moving and air gently wafting across Harry’s head.

They dozed for another two hours, getting ready just in time to come across Ron and Hermione on the way to breakfast.

“Didn’t see you guys at dinner,” Ron said, an eyebrow raised and a lopsided smirk on his face.

“We fell asleep,” Draco replied flatly.

Ron chuckled, and Draco rolled his eyes, before walking off towards the Great Hall, the trio close behind.

Hermione muttered in Harry’s ear “sleeping?”

“Yes, Hermione. Do not give me the talk or I will die of embarrassment.”

Hermione sighed, muttering something about “irresponsible boys” and “going to get himself pregnant”.

The four of them sat down at their usual places at the Gryffindor table. Luna, Seamus, Dean and Neville were already there, and all but Luna were very confused when Harry and Draco were exchanging chaste kisses every two minutes.

“What’s up with all the sudden PDA?” Dean asked, as Draco kissed Harry on his temple for passing the pumpkin juice.

“We’ve just started - ” Harry looked at Draco,” - dating?”

Draco nodded, and Seamus accidentally spat out half a mouthful of eggs. Spluttering, as Dean thumped him on the back, he said “Just? You’ve _just_ started dating?”

“Yep.” Harry and Draco exchanged smirks.

“You haven’t been dating this entire time?” By this point, everyone nearby - including the teachers at the table - were tuned into the conversation.

“We have not.” Draco looked quite smug, as did Flitwick. Harry realised why as he saw gold flash between him and McGonagall.

“Merlin. You two have been acting like a married couple since Draco started turning up at the table!” Neville’s eyes were wide. 

Luna chuckled. “I’m quite surprised it took you two this long to get together. I’m glad to see Draco’s influence has reduced the number of nargles around your head though, Harry.”

“Thanks, Luna.” Harry replied, bemused but not surprised by her reaction.

 _Did you know the teachers had been betting on us?_ Harry asked.

_I suspected. McGonagall was surprisingly invested in what was going on in my life._

Harry snorted softly, grabbing a third piece of toast and slathering it with what Draco would call “too much jam”.

The news that Harry and Draco were now a couple spread like wildfire, whispers following the couple through corridors and knowing smiles being directed at them during lessons. Flitwick had been especially delighted with them during charms the next day, giving them twice the usual number (which was already high) of smiles, and house points for no apparent reason (“10 points to Slytherin for picking up your quill! 15 points to Gryffindor for doing your tie correctly!”

 _I should get those points, since I tied your tie,_ Draco had said to the latter).

At dinner, the couple had walked into the Great Hall to whoops and wolf whistles from all four tables. Draco had blushed bright red, and Harry had turned on his heel and walked straight out, dragging Draco along.

“Too overwhelming?” Draco had asked as they approached the kitchens.

“Too annoying. And I missed doing this anyway.”

“Well then, according to tradition you're not coming in the kitchens.”

Harry sighed and leaned against the wall, casting a disillusionment charm and steadily watching the doorway. After about fifteen minutes afterwards, Draco emerged lugging a huge picnic basket with him. He thanked the elves, casting a featherlight charm on the basket before looking around for Harry. 

He removed the charm with a flick of his wand. “Dorm? It’s cold and wet outside.”

Draco nodded. “Dorm.”

They sat on the bed, just like they had before, each happy to enjoy the moment in itself, without worrying about anything else.

~

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching and Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do. Originally, he would have immediately said “I’m going to the Weasley’s.” Merlin, even a week ago he would have immediately said “the Weasley’s.” But now - now he didn’t know what Draco was doing. They’d only been dating for a week, but Harry felt they’d been more than friends since that night after they were told they were soulmates. Would Draco even _want_ to spend Christmas with him? He’d spent every moment with Harry for the last three months, he’d probably want a break rather than another two weeks with Harry around every corner.

Harry looked across at Draco. Harry was lounging in bed, enjoying some free time as Draco worked on another essay. Harry felt like Draco had so much more work than him, even though he was only doing one extra NEWT.

He let his eyes roam freely over Draco - hunched over his desk, quill scribbling away. He clearly felt Harry’s gaze on him, turning around to flash a grin before turning back to his homework. Harry beamed at his back, before a small part of him said _see? He likes his homework more than you._

Harry grimaced at himself. Draco had to do his homework, he couldn’t spend every moment of every day looking after Harry. Harry shifted, sitting further towards the back of his bed and wrapping his arms around his legs. He’d just go to the Weasley’s. Draco could get a break from him that way.

Harry put his head in his arms. He loved the Weasley’s, he really did, but _everyone_ would be at Christmas.

Everyone except Fred.

Harry tried to keep his tears in, he really did, but the thought of Fred just opened the floodgates. He still blamed himself for Fred’s death - how could he not? - and the idea of facing the Weasley’s when the lack of Fred’s presence would be so obvious…

And Draco wouldn’t even be there to help him.

Harry was hyperventilating now, having forgotten that Draco was in the same room as him. He flinched in surprise as he felt a tentative hand on his back, but leaned into the touch when he remembered who was in the room with him.

“Harry, love, what’s wrong?” Draco rubbed soothing circles into Harry’s back.

“I just...I’m not sure if I can go to the Weasley’s this year for Christmas.”

Draco sighed and snaked his arm around Harry, pulling him into his side. “What do you want to do at Christmas?”

“I don’t know,” Harry turned his head into Draco’s shirt, tears dampening the expensive fabric.

“Okay...why don’t you want to go to the Weasley’s?”

“Because Fred...and there’ll be too many people...and you won’t be there…” Harry stiffened at the last statement, but relaxed again as Draco moved his thumb against Harry’s arm.

“Do you want me to be there?”

“Of course I do! Well, I’d rather spend it with just you in all honesty…”

There was a brief pause, before Draco apparently came to a decision. “I have an apartment in muggle London. My parents live in France - I might go visit them but you can come to the apartment with me if you want?” Harry felt him stiffen as he made the offer, but Harry grinned with delight.

He removed himself from Draco’s waist and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. “Are you asking me to live with you over Christmas?”

“I mean we share a room already, we’ll just have a bit more space-“

He was cut off as Harry kissed him again. “You’re sure? You’re not going to get bored of me?”

Draco chuckled. “Darling, I could never get bored of you.”


	11. 12 Years Later

Harry nudged Draco as his alarm vibrated. “Honey, we need to get up.”

“No we don’t,” Draco groaned, pulling a pillow over his face.

“Come on, we’ve got lunch at the Weasley’s.”

“I’m fucking pregnant, I shouldn’t have to put up with this.”

“You’re one month pregnant. You don’t have a bump or morning sickness!”

“I still shouldn’t have to deal. I swear to god, if we have a fourth child I am not carrying it.”

Harry pulled the pillow back, pressing soft kisses to Draco’s neck and jaw. “We both know how much you like bottoming.”

Draco groaned, poking Harry. “Give me five more minutes.”

At this point, Harry heard banging on their door. He jumped in surprise, drawing his wand, before remembering he had two very excitable children. “I don’t think they’re going to give you five more minutes.”

Harry got out of bed, going to the door, and Draco muttered “Don’t let them in.”

Harry did anyway, picking up two-year-old Scorpius and pressing a kiss to his forehead. James launched himself at Draco, who pretended to be asleep for all of five seconds, before giving in to James’ insisted poking and shouts of “Daddy, wake up!”

“I’m up, I’m up, you little terror,” Draco said, ruffling James’ hair affectionately. The four-year-old had kept up the tradition of looking exactly like the Potters, with messy, jet-black hair and caramel skin. However, his eyes were a light shade of grey, identical to Draco’s.

“Budge over,” Harry said, walking over and sitting in the space James left on the side, popping Scorpius between his legs.

After about thirty seconds of sitting there with James squirming between them, Draco drawled “So are we getting food or not?”

“Food!” Scorpius exclaimed - he wasn’t quite talking in full sentences, but food was one of his favourite things. He almost ate as much as James.

“Can we have waffles?” James asked, looking at Harry adoringly with those eyes Harry loved. Scorpius squirmed around until he was facing Harry, before looking at Harry with big green eyes. At first, Harry had found it unnerving to find his own eyes looking at him from under a mop of pale blonde hair, but he’d quickly gotten over it.

“Fine, I’ll make waffles,” cheers from the two boys, “but only one each. We’re going to the Weasley’s for lunch.”

Harry picked up Scorpius to swing his legs of the bed, setting him back down as he pulled on his slippers and a robe over his pyjamas.

He cast a heating charm around the kitchen. Kreacher had died around a year before James had been born, but in his later years had not been very helpful anyway. Harry didn’t have to call down the rest of their family, as they appeared after smelling the enticing of scent of waffles. “Have some fruit as well,” Harry instructed, indicating the bowl of fruit next to the plate with four hot, fresh waffles. Draco and James, who both had very sweet tastes, put strawberries and chocolate sauce on theirs, while Harry and Scorpius both preferred blueberries and small quantities of syrup.

After one waffle each, to everyone (especially Draco’s) dismay, they went into the living room, since they didn’t have to be at the Weasley’s for another three hours. After years of begging, Draco had finally relented and let Harry charm a TV to work in their house. They’d moved into Grimmauld Place after Draco had got his healer’s qualification - Harry had never quite decided what he wanted to do and had occupied himself first with clearing out the house, and then reading his way through the Black family library. He was now more knowledgeable in various topics to do with the dark arts than he’d ever wanted, which had influenced Draco’s final decision to get a television. After spending a considerable amount of time cooking and bingeing various shows, he’d been occupied as a stay-at-home dad with James, and then Scorpius.

They watched Home Alone, one of James’ favourites (which concerned Harry slightly since he was named after James and Sirius, who were infamous for pulling pranks, and he was Harry’s son, who hadn’t exactly been the most well-behaved student in school) before Draco and Harry had to carry the boys upstairs despite their protests that they could go to the Weasley’s in their pyjamas. Harry went into the bathroom as Draco insisted he could dress the boys, relishing the hot water on his skin before changing into jeans and a hoodie. Draco would be dressed a lot more formally, likely in trousers and a jumper, but at the Weasley’s you dress how you want. Harry emerged still tying his shoulder length hair back in a bun, to see James and Scorpius in miniature versions of his own outfit, and Draco was wearing...jeans.

Harry raised an eyebrow, saying “jeans? When did hell freeze over?”

“You’re always wearing them, and I wanted to see what the fuss was about!” Draco slowly turned, lifting his pastel blue jumper to show off the tight black jeans . Harry’s eyes were immediately drawn to his arse, which looked...there were no words for how good it looked.

 _It’s a shame the kids are here - those jeans make me want to bend you over the table and take you right now._ Harry determinedly shut his mouth, which had been hanging open, as Draco turned back around, and smirked at the light flush spreading across his pale cheeks.

“If we’re all ready to leave?” Draco’s voice sounded slightly strangled. _Git._ Harry grinned at the familiar insult.

“Of course, let’s go.” _Prat._

~

The four of them apparated to the Weasley’s, Harry and James landing squarely in the middle of the path while Draco and Scorpius narrowly avoided the muddy pit just off the track.

“Draco, we’ve been coming here for years. Will you ever learn to not land in the mud pit?”

“I didn’t land _in_ the mud pit.” Draco grumbled.

“Almost!” Scorpius grinned, his green eyes lit up.

“Traitor.” Draco ruffled Scorpius’ hair, putting him on the ground to toddle to the house. Even after all these years, all the Weasleys and Harry congregated at the Burrow every other Sunday for lunch if they could.

Harry and Draco followed the sprinting kids at a more leisurely pace, holding hands. They entered the chaotic house, Harry barely even flinching at the wall of noise that greeted them. Children from ages two to eight (Teddy also came during holidays, but was currently in his second year of Hogwarts and at school for another week) ran around their legs, and Harry and Draco were greeted with hearty claps to the shoulder and hugs from various people.

The meal was huge and all prepared by Mrs Weasley, as was tradition. They all sat around a magically extended table, in a massive dining room. On this particular day, other than Teddy, only Charlie and his boyfriend were absent, as they were on a three week holiday in South America. This meant there were still nineteen people seated around the dining table, and four separate conversations, one of which was entirely in french between Draco, Fleur and Victoire. Harry was trying to have a conversation with Ron and Bill about some ministry issue between the goblins and the aurors, but every time he heard Draco speak french his mind immediately wandered to _other_ places.

“...If it’s evidence, we need to see it regardless of the legal implications!”

“Ron, you are literally law enforcement. You’re not allowed to break it!”

“Sometimes you have to break the law to uphold the law. Back me up, Harry.” Ron elbowed Harry, who was staring at Draco with a forgotten forkful of mash raised halfway to his mouth.

“I- yeah, you’re right Ron. Excuse me?”

Ron raised an eyebrow at the half-hearted statement from Harry, while Bill just chuckled.

“Draco, could I borrow you for a minute?”

“ _Une minute_ ” Draco said, before allowing Harry to drag him around a corner into the corridor, hastily erecting a silencing charm and pinning him against the wall, kissing him and grinding his hips against Draco’s.

“You really like Mrs Weasley’s meals then, huh?”

“Fuck off.”

“If you insist.” Draco pushed off the wall, taking all of a step before Harry stopped him.

“Will you speak french tonight?”

Draco raised one eyebrow, his silver eyes glittering with delight. The corners of his mouth slowly turned upwards and his gaze slowly lowered to Harry’s lips. _If you insist._

Harry laughed, pressing another kiss to Draco’s lips. Draco smiled in return at the pure, unfiltered joy that Harry sent down the bond. Now, instead of shadows, Harry’s mind was often lit up by some inner light. He still had his off days - his therapist said they would never truly go - but Draco and Harry worked through them together.

All was as well as it could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops...bit of shade at the end.
> 
> I have a few notes about the AU that I wanted to tell you guys, but couldn’t quite shoehorn into the epilogue:  
> \- Harry and Draco ended up with four children. James Sirius Potter-Malfoy (do I really need to provide background information?), Scorpius Severus Potter-Malfoy (don’t hate me, I personally hate Snape. Lucius didn’t take very well to Draco coming out, and Snape was Draco’s godfather, and Harry doesn’t harbour *that* many hostile feelings so they agreed. I’m not particularly happy about this but at least it’s not Albus Severus. I hate Albus Dumbledore), Lily Narcissa Potter-Malfoy (Narcissa had been much nicer about Draco being gay and had brought Lucius around). Harry didn’t get Draco pregnant for five years, until they got exceptionally drunk and he was pregnant again. Draco was also very irritated because he had to take time off work, and he’d been up for a promotion. The child was born female and named Lyra Aster Potter-Malfoy, but at age 9 she came out as gender fluid and asked to be called Li.  
> \- When Li went to Hogwarts, Harry got antsy, having gotten used to at least one kid running around the house, and finally went up to Godric’s Hollow and refurbished his parent’s home.  
> \- Draco had found that he had a surprising amount of free time as a healer, since there were a lot of people coming in and less people being injured since the war was over, so he got a potions mastery and made loads of new potions, including a new Wolfsbane potion.  
> \- When all of the children moved out, Harry and Draco moved into Godric’s Hollow. Harry had been redoing Grimmauld Place so it would be a hostel, of sorts, for abused kids who didn’t have anywhere else to go over the summer that they couldn’t spent at Hogwarts. Harry ran it, hiring any elves that wanted work for the cooking and cleaning.  
> \- Lastly, I mentioned towards the start of the fic that Hogwarts hadn’t had any soulmates in twenty years. The soulmates twenty years ago were Remus and Sirius (AHH! WOLFSTAR!) I may eventually write this, I may not, but if anyone wants to - if you have a vision or something, feel free to write it. I’m not sure how people writing parts to other people’s fics works on here, so if you do want to can you DM me on either tumblr or instagram @ Huffinglepuff :)
> 
> Ok so that’s all the plot related stuff, now acknowledgements and me just rambling in general:
> 
> A month and a half isn’t actually that long, but I’ve never been very good at sticking to projects anyway, and am quite proud of myself for not abandoning this. I’m currently writing a short fic that’s being posted on my instagram, but I will be posting the completed thing on here once it’s done.
> 
> After I’ve posted the next fic, called The Egregious Engagement, I’ll be inactive on here for a while. I have plans for a seventh year fic *cackles evilly* which I am unbelievably excited to write, and I’ll start posting once it’s reached around 25K. I don’t know how long that’s going to take to write, probably at least two weeks, but I’m reasonably active on my instagram and tumblr so if you want to follow me, harass me, or make friends, you can find me there :)
> 
> I know this isn’t very long and I’m probably being over dramatic I’m just going to say a few thank you’s anyway:  
> \- to Harriet, for putting up with me ignoring you on our discord calls and my delusional rambling. I love you very much and you’d better fucking know.  
> \- to Megan, Becky, Madi and Alexa, for reading this crap before it’s been edited, correcting typos and providing feedback and encouragement every step of the way - I love you guys as well.  
> \- to Ellen, Bella, Aimee homosexual_hogwarts, motherbooker, rip.scottstacos, possessedlampshade, omayo and everyone else who’s left a comment or given me feedback, you guys honestly make my fucking day when I see a message or comment and love you all as well  
> \- to any other idiots who are reading this, and/or have left kudos, I don’t know why you’re still reading but I love you all as well.


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